


Carry You Home

by Casloveshisfreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, College DeanCas, DCBB, DCBB2020, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Destiel - Freeform, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV Alternating, Secret Relationship, Smut, Switching, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 70,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casloveshisfreckles/pseuds/Casloveshisfreckles
Summary: As starting pitcher for the Kansas City Royals and at the top of his game, Dean Winchester is making headlines. His curveball sends batters back to the dugout before they know what hits them, but if you ask Dean, the real secret to his success isn’t in the pitches he throws but in the man standing behind the plate, his catcher, Castiel Novak.While in college and training for the big leagues, Dean never expected that a chance encounter with a one-night-stand would end up changing the course of his career, but Cas has never stopped surprising him. They’re the perfect match, both on and off the field, facing down everything from shitty fathers to the MLB draft. Everything they do, they do it together. So when Dean takes the mound with twenty-seven outs and a perfect game on the horizon, he knows Cas is in it with him.Baseball is a language of love, and for Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak, it always has been.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 237
Kudos: 567
Collections: DCBB 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi and welcome to my 2020 DCBB!
> 
> This is a story I’ve wanted to write for a long time, and when the world melted down at the beginning of the year, the angsty story I had planned to write suddenly seemed like too much for me to take on, on top of everything else. And then baseball got cancelled (for awhile anyway), so I couldn’t resist the opportunity to fill that void with the Baseball AU of my dreams. Everything sucks, so like always, I had to turn to my comfort characters and, like always, they got me through. I hope reading this, they can do the same for you. 
> 
> **Please note, you don’t need to know about baseball to enjoy this story! I happen to have a beta who didn’t know anything about baseball and she gave this story her seal of approval. Everything important is explained, so I hope you give me a little of your trust, and have a little faith, and join me and our favorite boys on their newest adventure. 
> 
> Speaking of my betas… All my love and thank you's and everything in between for Jess and Kay who again, had to put up with me and everything that comes with reading my in progress work. They’re the Sam and Cas to my Dean and I wouldn’t be writing without them so I owe them both a lot. Thank you both, I love you toooo. 
> 
> Super special thanks to my amazing artist Cayd.art. I've embedded her absolutely gorgeous and fun art in the chapters and I hope you give her all props she deserves when you see it. Working with Cayd was a frickin' dream and I'd be lucky to do it again in the future. Her art post is also [here!](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGSYCAknByi/)
> 
> This story’s title is inspired by fun.'s We Are Young, which will always and forever be a baseball song to me, thanks to one of the greatest pitchers in the game, Clayton Kershaw. I didn't know I'd find my title when I needed it on my playlists but I'm not surprised I did. The playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/36NEV981FG57OFxq7yLYTL?si=keH80QBrRyWjl_5TLm3eUA), and below is a link to my other socials, including the Pinterest board for this story. Come say hello! 
> 
> Okay! Let’s get to it! I hope you enjoy the story and don’t forget to wear your mask! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> [Tumblr](https://casloveshisfreckles.tumblr.com) — [Twitter](https://twitter.com/caslvshsfreckls) — [Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/Casloveshisfreckles/carry-you-home/) — [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/36NEV981FG57OFxq7yLYTL?si=keH80QBrRyWjl_5TLm3eUA)

_ Distance: 11.00 miles. Time: One hour, thirty-three minutes. Average Pace: 9.23 per mile.  _

The robotic voice of his running app alerts Castiel Novak of his progress, breaking through the  _ Intentional Talk  _ podcast he's listening to _. _ It’s a spinoff from the popular television show on the MLB Network, but Cas doesn’t have a lot of time for television. Podcasts fit his schedule best, and he’s catching up to last week's episode featuring the hottest rising star in baseball at the moment, right-handed pitcher for the Kansas City Royals, Dean Winchester. Coming into his second year with the team, Winchester’s thrown nothing but heat this season; his average six outs rising to ten a game while his pitch count hovers in the high nineties, even when it’s clear he still has some pitches left in him. 

It’s impressive, and it’s turning heads in the baseball community. 

The hosts were asking Dean if he felt he could stay in longer when the running app cut them off and, interested in the answer, Cas bypasses the turn that will take him home to go straight, and the longer way around. He’s sweating but not winded, so the extra two miles won’t hurt. 

Dean’s voice fills his ears as he continues to run. 

“When the skip tells me to pitch, I pitch. When he tells me I’m done, I’m done. Could I go another inning or two? I always think so.” Hearing the cheeky grin behind Dean’s voice makes Cas huff out a laugh. Dean is annoyingly charming and so much so, Cas is running two extra miles to listen to him. He rolls his eyes at himself and follows the curve of the road. 

“Truth is, me and skip have a good relationship. He’s made it clear if I want to stay in, I can stay in. I just listen to what my catcher tells me to do and I’m good.”

“Right, your catcher, Cas Novak. You two are a bit of a wonder-duo.” 

Dean laughs. “Ah, neither of us would say that. We just play well together.” He starts going on and on about Cas’s accomplishments after the hosts run through Dean’s stats with and without Cas catching for him, and that’s when Cas tunes them out. It doesn't happen often, but their manager has tried a time or two to separate them, and it always backfires. Dean throws like shit and Cas can’t get on base to save his life and they don’t get back into their grooves until they can work together again. 

They’ve been perfecting their game together for the last eight years, they better know what they’re doing by now. 

The last few miles are easy after the eleven he’s put behind him, and Cas runs through the familiar neighborhood, all the roads connecting into blocks around curves of small lakes and parks. Leawood’s only a twenty-five minute drive from Kansas City and Kauffman Stadium, so it was an easy neighborhood to choose, and not just for the convenience. A suburb of Overland Park, Leawood is small and while the people are friendly, everyone respects each other's privacy. They know who Cas is when he passes by, and they wave, but other than that, everyone leaves him alone.

The podcast moves on to discussing salaries and that’s when Cas turns it off, thankfully reaching his driveway at the same time. He doesn’t play for the money, and Dean doesn’t either, and what they earn affords them a very comfortable life, and the ability to spend it in small, but extravagant ways. 

The house, for example. As Cas runs up the long driveway, he appreciates the two-story, white stone covered home with its gray roof, the one Dean insisted on because of its incredible backyard with the huge pool and outdoor patio, complete with a built in barbeque and bar. Cas loves the master bedroom with its cathedral ceilings and the renovated basement slash entertainment room, which Dean affectionately calls the Dean Cave. 

Entering through the side gate, he locks it before heading inside through the backdoor of the kitchen. Most days, Dean is still sleeping like a bear when Cas returns from his run, dead to the world until Cas fires up the coffee pot.

But not on the days that Dean pitches. 

This morning, Cas finds his sleep ruffled husband, barefoot and sitting on the kitchen island in a pair of gray sweats and nothing else, a large bowl of cereal in one hand, and his favorite pink Mystery Spot coffee cup in his other. It’s paused halfway to his mouth, his eyebrows raising as Cas comes through the door, his handsome face melting into a warm smile. 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean drawls. “Some coffee?” 

Cas goes right for Dean’s plush, pink lips, cupping Dean’s face as he kisses him hello. Dean’s hands become free enough to slide over his shoulders and grab the back of Cas’s shirt so he can yank it off, Cas raising his hands and frowning because it forces them out of their kiss. 

Dean happily kisses Cas’s pout away, Cas tastes coffee when he sucks on Dean’s tongue. By the time they pull back, Cas is flushed… and not just from his run. Foreheads pressed together, Dean slides his fingers down Cas’s sweat slick chest, Cas’s nipples pebbling when Dean brushes his thumbs over them and even though they usually don’t do this here, Cas wouldn’t mind seeing Dean spread out over the island.

He grabs Dean’s breakfast to move it when Dead stops him with a chuckle. “My cereal’s gonna get soggy.”

“Let it,” Cas growls, not giving a fuck about the cereal. He’ll pour Dean another bowl after he’s done making him — 

“Cas, hey!” Rubbing their noses together, Dean soothes the rushing blood under Cas’s skin. “Tell me what you came up with on your run.” He gives him a little push, Cas settling against the counter opposite him, crossing his arms over his bare chest to show just how little he likes this idea. If Dean’s not going to let Cas fuck him on the kitchen island, then Cas isn’t going to let him enjoy the view. 

Dean narrows his eyes but goes back to drinking his coffee, motioning for Cas to get on with it using a swirling motion that’s way too enduring. 

“This is a decent Yankee team, we know that. The projected lineup we’ve been working on is one you could handle, so I’d say at least eleven, if not twelve or thirteen outs. I think you can get to at least the eighth inning without problems.” 

It’s a game they play, one Dean insists takes the edge off—a final prediction, he likes to say.. They spend all week preparing for pitching days, but the morning of Dean likes to make their final guesses on the outcome. Whoever’s closest gets to make the other come first that night and Cas takes their wager seriously, always wanting to be in charge of Dean’s orgasms. 

Dean takes a bite of cereal as he mulls over Cas’s analysis, grinning when Cas raises his eyebrow at how long he’s taking. They could be spending their time so much better than this. 

Swallowing, Dean grins down into his bowl before glancing up at Cas through his stupidly long eyelashes, so distracting Cas almost doesn’t hear his reply.

“How do you feel about twenty-seven?” 

_ Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven. _

The number echoes in Cas’s thoughts for the rest of their morning, even when they’re upstairs showering, and getting off together before they need to leave. Dean’s buoyant and playful and he sings all the way to the stadium, the best mood he could be in if he believes he’s going to throw a complete game today.

It’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. 

As usual, the Impala is the first car in the players lot, and once they walk inside, the rest of their pre game rituals fall into place; Dean going straight for the lunch spread in the clubhouse while Cas goes for a soak in an ice bath, waving hello to Pamela as he passes the big window of her office. She waves back and grins when she sees him heading for the ice, the regimen her idea after another pulled muscle in his back. It’s fucking freezing but after a few minutes, Cas can’t feel his body from the neck down so he can’t really complain.

While Cas soaks, Dean finishes his lunch, changes, and heads straight for the field to begin his warm-ups, the rest of the team trickling in, in the meantime. Cas climbs out of his bath before the numbness turns painful and after he dresses, he meets Dean up on the field to catch his practice throws. 

It’s a routine they’ve perfected and one Dean counts on and even as they warm up, Cas is running through their planned pitches for the different batters they will most likely be facing. Yesterday, he had a decent plan for Dean in mind, but ever since  _ twenty-seven,  _ Cas has had to reevaluate some. Not that he’s complaining. It’s all part of his job and information Dean relies on to get the team the win. 

The stadium is open to the public while the team warms up, and a few dedicated fans arrive early enough to watch and Cas is humbled, anytime people crowd the railings outside the bullpen, there just to watch them at any opportunity. A lot of fans wear jerseys with their names on the back and it’s surreal and a reminder that they’re the luckiest guys on earth to be given this opportunity to do what they love together. 

The time to warm up passes like a flash, and Cas and Dean leave the bullpen to cross the field to join their team for the National Anthem. Every time they make this trip together, Cas can’t help but be in awe of the sheer size of Kauffman Stadium from this angle, on the field and surrounded by thirty-eight thousand seats that have slowly filled over time. 

Anticipation coursing through him, Cas takes a moment to be grateful that this is his life, to play ball for a living with Dean by his side, all of it feeling like a dream Cas can’t quite believe is real. 

There’s just something about baseball. 

Dean’s good spirits stay intact, and as they line up along the first base line with the other players, Cas can’t help but glance over at his husband as they remove their hats for the anthem. The sun is setting, and the golden rays filter through his sandy blonde hair, reminding Cas what he loves about night games. Seems like he fell in love, watching the sun set behind Dean, and he wouldn’t trade his life for anything. 

It’s no surprise when Dean catches him staring, and they trade small smiles as the song ends and the crowd claps; the last few moments of calm before the storm. Dean seems ready while Cas’s nerves jump around, tonight’s game different somehow, and he can only assume it’s Dean’s wild prediction getting under his skin. That’s normal though, for Cas to worry enough for the both of them. 

Their final pre-game ritual happens after they go back into the dugout one last time while the “first pitch” is thrown by a local celebrity and final lineup cards are exchanged. Cas knows to follow Dean back to the tunnel that leads to the locker rooms, moving quickly when Dean pulls him into the small dugout bathroom for one last kiss. 

Dean’s smile is wide and breathtaking as he locks the door, and he doesn’t waste any time pulling them together. “Can’t wait to get you back in our bed,” he murmurs as he presses kiss after kiss to Cas’s cheeks and lips. 

Cas tries to stay quiet, whimpering some under Dean’s attention. “Still confident about twenty-seven?” 

“Feelin’ real good about it, babe,” he murmurs, pulling Cas’s white jersey to the side to suck a small red mark along his collarbone. “It's good incentive, knowing I get to make you fall apart later.” 

“You want to throw a complete game just so you can make me come?” It’s getting difficult for Cas to control his rising temperature as Dean presses him against the door, but he still bucks his hips to emphasize his meaning around the word  _ come _ . 

“You’re the best motivation in the world, Cas,” Dean groans, pushing back before burying his face in the crook of Cas’s neck. 

A sharp whistle outside the door alerts them that their time is up and as they extract themselves from their hiding spot (and adjust for their budding erections), Cas can’t believe he married the cheesiest, sappiest, most wonderful man on the entire planet, and now he gets to walk beside him to take on the best game in the world against one of the most infamous teams in history. 

Following Dean out and into the fading sunlight, Cas can’t help but think they might be about to make a little history of their own. 

It’s easy to focus and ignore the roar of the crowd as they take the field, Cas running out after Dean, taking off for his place behind home plate as Dean takes the pitchers mound with confident, bow-legged strides, his crisp, white uniform bright in the lingering sun. Cas watches as Dean tips the brim of his bright blue cap a few times, making it comfortable as Cas drops into his stance to accept the last of the warm-up pitches Dean will throw before the batter comes up.

Music plays throughout the stadium and Cas barely hears it, more focused on the snap of the baseball hitting the inside of his leather glove, each pitch proof that Dean is ready. The dull gray form of the batter hovering on the Yankees on-deck circle is hardly a thought in Cas’s mind as his eyes lock with Dean’s and even as the player comes up and the fans quiet around them, Cas can’t look away. 

Dean’s eyes only flick down for a second to glance at the sign Cas is showing him, and then he’s nodding and moving gracefully into his stance and like a dance they know by heart, Cas opens his glove and jumps into a low crouch the moment Dean releases his first pitch.

Even before it makes contact, Cas knows he just caught a Dean Winchester fast ball. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight if the sting in his palm is any indication. Cas’s eyes flick to the scoreboard to check the small box containing the pitch speed. 

Ninety-eight miles per hour. 

Cas fuckin’ knew it and when he finds Dean’s sparkling emerald eyes again, he can tell his husband knew it too. 

It won’t be the first time today, but after that pitch, Cas thinks Dean might be right about twenty-seven. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s fucking cold. The walk across campus was enough to keep him somewhat warm, but Dean still pulls his jacket tighter, thankful when he sees the familiar bright pink neon sign for The Sparrow, written in script below a neon bird, its feathers flashing the colors of the rainbow. It’s tacky and perfect, and it’s been Dean’s favorite place to blow off some steam for the last five months since school started. 

Dean’s halfway done with his freshman year at University of Kansas and Spring semester just started, except it’s fucking January and it’s too cold for everything, including baseball. Doesn’t matter though, because it’s the only reason Dean’s here, freezing his ass off to play for four years so he can earn a degree, something his mom always wanted him to do. He’s even willing to endure the schedule his dad’s cooked up for him, full of extra runs and time in the gym plus time before and after practice to throw. There’s barely gonna be enough time to do all the damn homework he’ll have, let alone time to go out, so tonight could be the last chance Dean’s got to have a drink and maybe even hook up if he plays his cards right. 

Tomorrow is his first official practice as a KU Jayhawk. 

The Sparrow isn’t the closest bar to Dean’s dorm, but it is the only LGBT friendly bar that won’t blink twice at Dean’s fake ID, which he flashes at the bouncer before holding the door open for his best friend and closest confidant, Donna Hascum. She’s another local like Dean, and they’ve been “besties”, as Donna likes to say, since they were kids, living only a few houses apart and being the same age, bonding over their bikes and a combined annoyance at the existence of younger siblings. 

The rest was history. They tried kissing exactly one time, and Donna lovingly said it was like kissing her brother before she shoved Dean off the bench they were sharing. They were eight and complete idiots and not much has changed. Donna is his wing-woman and partner in crime, and the entire reason Dean is even comfortable enough to be in this bar, considering he’s not exactly out. Not to anyone outside of Donna… and Sam. His dad might possibly kill him if Dean told him he was bisexual and not one hundred percent straight, like he raised Dean to be. He doesn’t expect to see anyone from the team that he knows here either, baseball not really a gay friendly game. 

Donna only coaxed it out of him after she made Dean drink something disgustingly green called an Appletini, resulting in him drunkenly confessing that he wanted to invite Lisa’s brother to Prom, instead of Lisa, who ended up ditching him halfway through the night when Dean opted out of dancing and no amount of coaxing could get him to join her. Dean just doesn’t dance. 

He’s only ever been good at one thing in his life, and that’s baseball. Pitching, to be exact. His dad taught him how to throw before he could walk and it’s been Dean’s entire life and if he’s lucky, it’ll stay that way. 

There aren’t many things in this life Dean loves, but baseball is in the top five. The only thing he doesn’t love is his dad’s obsession with it, and if Dean weren’t at KU because of his own choices, he bets he’d resent the game a lot more than he does sometimes. But baseball is in his blood, and even when he hates the early mornings and extra practices, Dean still loves the feeling in his gut when he throws a good fastball. Nothing beats it. 

Except maybe the beer he’s about to drink. 

A sharp elbow gets jammed into his side as he pulls off his jacket. “Hey, I thought we said no baseball tonight.” Donna’s scolding forces Dean to push all thoughts of the game out of his head, his concern over how the hell Donna always seems to know taking over. 

Dean scowls at her and motions over towards a few of the empty booths with his chin. “Go grab us one of those, will you? Think I bring you along just to look pretty?” 

She winks while she flips him off and grabs his jacket before snagging a booth close to the pool tables, while Dean heads towards the bar. The Sparrow is a typical dive with its invitingly low light and a constant hum of noise and like usual, it’s crowded, crowded enough that Dean has to wait his turn to order. He straightens himself out while trying not to eavesdrop on the conversations happening around him. 

One pulls him in, though. 

“I told you bro, just be my wingman, no one said you had to hook up tonight. Look at you, you’re already doing it, just standing there smoldering at me. Reel me in a lady or a fella with those charms, you know I don’t mind.” The playfulness in the guy’s voice almost makes Dean grin.

The returned growl does the rest of the work. “I am not smoldering at you.”

The voices are coming from behind him, and more possible bisexuals in the wild is something Dean’s gotta see. That’s the beauty of The Sparrow. You never know what you’re gonna get, or who you might hook up with.

Turning as casually as possible, all Dean sees is an incredibly hot guy who is definitely smoldering slash scowling at another dude, who’s leaning over the bar and trying to get the attention of one of the three bartenders. Scowly guy rolls his eyes and even that’s hot and Dean can’t help but take another second to look, noting that the guy’s wild sex hair and striking cheekbones have a lot to do with his high hotness factor. 

Dean would take another few seconds to appreciate him if the bartender didn’t fully bypass Hot Guy and his now disappointed friend, who’s holding an offended hand in the air as the bartender ignores them to take Dean’s order. He ends up taking theirs next, and after Dean’s tucking his wallet back into his pants, he notices that Hot Guy has noticed him back. 

His dark eyes are making their way back to Dean’s face and they only widen a fraction when they meet Dean’s before they’re interrupted by Dean’s fulfilled order. Dean has no choice but to take the beers and leave the bar so the person behind him can order. Weird bar conversations forgotten, he exercises his balancing skills and manages not to spill either drink as he makes his way through the crowd to join Donna at their spot for the night. 

They’ve been here a few times in the last five months, the first time being right after graduation. They did their research on where to go and paid Donna’s shady cousin too much for fake IDs, and after all the hype it was… nothing exciting. Turns out that LGBT friendly bars are just like any other bar, except here, you never know how anyone swings. And that was kinda how both he and Donna liked it. 

They’re both bisexual, which is why they picked an all gender friendly place like The Sparrow, and they’ve both scored here a time or two. Four times for Dean if they’re keeping track (which they definitely are). 

Donna’s already scanning the place as Dean settles in and considers a game of pool. He could totally beat the two guys playing next to them. Just as he’s about to call next game, Donna knocks on the table to get his attention, her eyes playful. “Want me to beat these guys so we can play?”

Dean grins and in no time, they’ve killed an hour or two and a few rounds, their booth littered with empty pint glasses and two spent plates of nachos. They’re both tipsy enough to lose at pool but neither of them care when they slide into their seats. 

Leaning back, Donna bounces her eyebrows at him. “Okay Romeo, you ready to play the field?”

Dean groans. “Really?” 

Cackling, Donna knocks back the rest of her beer before not so gracefully extracting herself out of the booth again. “I’m gonna grab another round so you better be ready with a few options by the time I get back.” 

Not waiting for an answer, Donna takes the same path they’ve been weaving around the tables all night to get to the side of the bar that has the best service. They insist on full best friend approval on all hook ups and they’ve bullshit enough tonight, so Dean knows she wants to get down to it. She’s just as bad as he is about hooking up, which is why she’s a kick-ass wingman — wingwoman? 

He’s drank too much to figure it out and his glass is empty, so while he waits for Donna to get back, Dean scans the room, eyes flicking over a few prospects he noticed while he was playing pool; a brunette with a pretty smile that wouldn’t stop checking him out, and another blonde guy who did the same. 

Dean won’t admit to keeping one eye out for the Hot Guy, not seeing him again and wondering if he got his friend laid. In the back of his hazy mind, he remembers to scan the room for any familiar faces and relaxes more when he doesn’t see any, aside from the one belonging to his best friend—who’s holding a tray with beers and probably too many shots and who is _also_ singing Happy Birthday at the top of her lungs. Badly. 

So, _so_ badly. 

Dean puts his hands over his ears before using one to flip her off as he shakes his head, hating every second. Heads are definitely turning to look at them and Dean shrinks down in the seat, gesturing at Donna to hurry her ass up and sit down. 

Dean stacked their empties while she was away so thankfully there’s somewhere she can put the tray down, only spilling all the little shot glasses a little when she does it, finishing her humiliating song with a flourish before she _finally_ fucking sits. 

“Kinda stupid to celebrate a birthday when you’re underage, dontcha think,” Dean reminds her, sending her the glare she earned herself. 

Donna just laughs. “Oh, stuff you Dean, you just hate your birthday. Now take a fuckin’ shot with me, Winchester.” 

He was gonna do that anyway. Narrowing his eyes, Dean takes one of the shot glasses in hand and raises it to meet Donna’s, already up and waiting for him. 

“Since I probably won’t see you until the actual day, we’re celebrating tonight. Happy birthday, best friend.” Donna clinks their shot glasses together. “Never forget how much I love you. Now help me drink this shit.” 

His cheeks hot, Dean tips the shot back and focuses on the burn of it when he takes another right after. His nineteenth birthday is on Friday and Donna’s right, they probably won’t see each other all week, if his dad gets his way with Dean’s practice schedule. Ellen and Sam had to demand a family dinner after John wanted to extend Dean’s practice by an extra two hours instead of celebrating. Donna already made plans to get to The Roadhouse early so she could help Ellen cook, so Dean knows he’ll see her then.

There’s no way in hell Ellen would let either of them get away with any of the shit they’re up to tonight at _her_ bar. If she knew they had fake IDs, she’d rip them in half with her own hands out of pure rage alone so their trips to The Sparrow are a secret. Tonight is for fun, and boy, does Donna like to have it. 

The tequila settles nice and warm in Dean’s belly, and he sips his beer as Donna surveys the now much more crowded bar. She takes another shot. “Okay,” she says, grimacing as the tequila goes down. “I had a real beauty lined up, but she was hot and heavy with some something or other by the bathroom when I went over for these drinks.” Donna seems sad for a second, staring wistfully at nothing before perking up again. “Buuuut, over on the other side of the bar is a _real_ lovely fella. He’s got a jawline that could cut glass and cheekbones that are really something.” She lifts her head to look towards the bar. “You can’t see him right now, but you can see the other guy he’s with from here. I would definitely break me off a piece of that.”

The Hot Guy from earlier. Dean knows without even looking at the friend that it’s gonna be him. 

“I tried to see if they wanted to help celebrate your birthday but his short friend shot me down. Something boring about a family night. So we’re gonna do the note.” Donna pushes another shot at him as Dean’s alcohol soaked brain processes what she said. “Come on Dean, keep up. Limes are right there.” 

“Why do you wanna do the note? Just go try to talk to him.” Dean takes the shot with a lime chaser, wrinkling his nose at the sourness overpowering the alcohol. 

“No, because he’s so pretty and if he’s not into the ladies, then it’s all you. The note is a win-win.” Donna’s already digging in her purse to pull out a pen and an envelope. She rips a piece off and pushes it at Dean. “Come on, write it.”

Dean scowls but takes the pen. The note. Donna cooked this shit up when they first started coming here, and it was too hard to know if someone was straight or gay or what. It also settled any dispute over dibs.

“Why do you think I might want this guy anyway,” he mumbles, scrawling out Donna’s phone number by memory. 

“Because he's your type. Dark haired, sexy, looks a little angry.” 

The note has only worked for him once and Donna twice and technically, if it is the right guy, Dean saw him first but Donna said it out loud so—the note will decide their fate.

Finishing up, Dean folds the piece of paper and throws back the rest of his beer, ignoring her little comment about his type. Annoying how well she knows him. He’ll just grouch at her instead. “Shouldn’t you be giving him this? It’s my birthday, I shouldn’t have to do all the work.”

“Birthdays don’t negate dibs, that’s your rule bucko,” she’s quick to remind him. “Settled that a few months ago, didn’t we?” 

Dean could get into it with her over her birthday last October and the redhead he took home instead of her, but he won’t. He did Donna a favor anyway because Dean ended up having to block that girl’s number. 

When he reaches the bar, he tips the bartender an extra five to pass the note with the drink he buys the guy, after Dean confirms it’s him. Hot Guy doesn’t notice Dean as Dean watches the bartender make his delivery and Dean plays it as cool as he can when the bartender gestures towards him, and hot Guy glances up.

His eyes find Dean’s in an instant. 

Just as quick, they dart back down to the piece of paper as he unfolds it. 

**_Hey, if you’re not gay, my friend thinks you’re cute. Here’s her number: 785-387-2461._ **

**_(and if you are gay, here’s mine: 785-555-0179)_ **

**_— Dean_ **

Hot Guy’s eyes snap back to Dean’s face even as he tries to hide the note from his friend who is making a play to read it over his shoulder. Dean plasters on a cocky grin as he jerks his chin towards their table, making sure the guy sees Donna throwing a hand up and giving him a finger gun and a wink. How she manages to get laid so often, Dean doesn’t know. 

The guy actually laughs and damn, Donna’s good. 

She’s cracking up when Dean finally joins her again. “Half the fun of the note is making you do it.”

“Fuck off,” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes at her with a grin. The note is a long term play, and the fact that Hot Guy didn’t want to hang earlier doesn’t give Dean much hope. He lines up another shot. “So, anyone else seem interesting?” 

They abandon their table once they put back all the drinks Donna brought and the next few hours are a blur, Dean’s level of intoxication growing as the night goes, as they play a game or two of darts and take a shot or two more between beers, the whole time flirting and joking with anyone who might be interested. Dean’s striking out ( _ha!_ ) but Donna keeps disappearing with a cute blonde with a pixie cut that Dean already approved of, and even through his drunkenness, Dean thinks it might not be a bad idea to bail. His bed sounds better and better, the more he thinks about it. 

Problem is, Donna finds him before he finds her and she can tell right away he wants to leave. “Nooo,” she whines, tugging on his hand. “Come outside with me and Meg.” 

“Outside? Is that where you’ve been? It’s fucking freezing Dee,” he replies, already letting her drag him towards the door. 

“Oh, don’t be a baby, the booze will keep you warm,” Donna argues back over her shoulder as they follow Meg out to the front of the bar. 

It’s no surprise when the tiny chick pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and proceeds to walk them over to the smoking area, lighting a few for her and Donna. They join a small group of people on the edge of the parking lot, an area covered by a short overhang with a few benches so people can sit. The light is low and the far corners are dark and everyone is hanging out, adding to the cloud of smoke that lingers in the air.

Donna’s a social smoker and it’s one of her bad habits that Dean never picked up, unless he’s _really_ drunk, and he’s close enough to be eyeing the cigarette between Donna’s fingers tonight. He’s been feeling way too third wheel-ish for his comfort as Donna flirts and yup, they’re making out so that’s Dean’s cue to head back to his dorm. 

Until a familiar face stops him in his tracks. Leaning against the wall of the bar, half in and out of the shadows, is the Hot Guy. And he’s already staring at Dean. 

Dean can’t even help it when he steps towards him. “Hi.” He can’t seem to stop his mouth either.

“Hello, Dean” the guy responds, raising an eyebrow and stepping out of the shadows. “Leaving already?” 

Well, now Dean doesn’t want to go anywhere. He shakes his head slowly, keeping eye contact with the guy as he tips up one corner of his mouth. “Not anymore.” 

Somehow that eyebrow goes higher and the guy gets even hotter and that’s when Dean’s hooked. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and fuck, the thrill Dean gets when the guy’s dark eyes go right to his mouth, even as he’s stepping well into Dean’s personal space. 

“So, did you buy me the drink? Or do I have your friend to thank?” The guy manages to tear his eyes off Dean’s mouth to glance around him to where Donna is wrapped around Meg before he’s back to studying Dean. “I’m not sure she’d appreciate being bothered, however.” 

“The drink was from me,” Dean replies, taking up their staring contest again. The way this guy studies him gets under his skin in a good way, mixing with all the tequila Dean drank tonight, his intoxication only growing. It makes him braver. “And she is definitely otherwise occupied for the rest of the night.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Dean snorts. “Does she look like my girlfriend?”

“I don’t know what people are into these days,” the guy replies, making a good point. 

Dean nods. “Fair. What about the guy you were with earlier? Did you succeed in getting him laid?” 

Hot Guy laughs and damn, that’s something Dean wants to hear again. He shakes his head. “My brother gave up on me about a half hour ago. He went back to his hotel after I wouldn’t smoke weed with him.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You don’t partake?” 

He shakes his head and quirks an eyebrow that asks the same of Dean. Dean would but he can’t, already knowing that he has a drug test coming up, probably in the next few days since practice is about to start. He smirks and shakes his head no as well. 

Slowly but surely as they’ve talked, the guy’s moved back into the shadows and Dean’s followed him, not even realizing until they’re both in the dark against the building, one bolt of stolen moonlight bright against the guy’s face that Dean’s eyes adjust to, the blueish beam highlighting a plush mouth that Dean really wants to taste. 

Dean leans in. “So, how did you want to thank me?” 

Slipping the lapels of Dean’s jacket between his fingers, the guy tugs Dean that much closer. “How about by telling you I’m gay?” 

Dean takes the invitation when the guy’s mouth falls slightly open and he crashes them together, lips searching, finding a _very_ willing participant, as the guy’s hands slide over Dean’s shoulders to pull them all the way together as they both gasp around another kiss, tilting their heads before they come together again because both of them want to deepen the kiss. Fuck, he tastes as good as he looks as Dean licks into his hot mouth and wow, can this guy kiss. It’s taking Dean’s knees out and he has to press them together, wanting to feel his heat under more than just his skin. 

Seems like his new friend has the same idea. “Do you want to go back to my dorm? It’s right down the street.” He makes his offer between kisses, spread across Dean’s mouth. Dean returns each one as he nods and lets himself be tugged out of the shadows. He’s a bit dazed but has enough sense to tug Donna’s braid and mumble something about calling her tomorrow, getting a peace sign thrown at him, Donna too busy to come up for air to say goodbye properly. 

Dean does not give a shit. His best friend is a big girl and she can get home safely and Dean has himself to worry about. 

The guy wasn't lying about his dorm being close and in no time, they're kissing in the dark doorway of the building before he swipes them in and Dean's impressed when his room turns out to be a single, thankful it doesn't have to be a night of hushed noises and pissed off roommates. 

Dean getting pushed against the back of the door closes it and the guy smirks as he locks it with one hand while running the other down Dean’s chest to snake around his hip, all while he stares hungrily at Dean’s mouth. 

There’s a low light behind him but before Dean’s eyes can adjust, he’s being kissed again and fuck everything else because suddenly all Dean can think about is how good this guy kisses and how warm his hands feel, the other joining the first in slipping under Dean’s layers to palm at his t-shirt, all while he explores Dean’s mouth with his tongue. He fucking smells incredible too, woody, with a sharp scent that’s fucking all _man_ and fuck, it makes the blood pool in Dean’s gut. Dean gasps when the guy pulls back, only enough to nip at Dean’s lips with a grin that’s almost too hot for Dean to handle. He groans and presses their foreheads together, just needing a minute. 

“You know you got me all the way up here and I don't even know your name.” Dean lets his hands wander over the guy’s shoulders, kinda surprised when they feel so beefy, even through the jacket he’s still wearing. Suddenly, it feels like a million degrees in the little room and the urge to get both their shirts off is overwhelming.

Hot Guy chuckles against Dean’s jaw and pulls him away from the door. “Isn’t that half the fun of it, though?” His hands slip up and under Dean’s flannel to push it and Dean’s jacket off his shoulders in one move, and his clothes crumple to the ground as Dean gets pushed until the back of his legs hit a bed that he can’t help but sit down on as his shirt gets yanked off too. 

Smirking, the guy climbs on Dean’s lap as he pulls his own jacket off, and unbuttons the black shirt he’s wearing. He looked so hot back at the bar, with his black leather jacket, but it turns out Dean didn’t know shit about hotness, because when his clothes fall away, Dean gets taught a lesson. 

The dim lamp on the nightstand defines every dip and line of the guy's chest and shoulders, totally cut and completely hidden under the clothes he was wearing. He’s a fucking brickhouse, and Dean doesn’t even hesitate to lean in to get his mouth on the planes of his chest, his hands sliding up thick thighs and sharp hips and around to his back, which is just as muscled as the rest of him. 

Dean suddenly forgets to care what the guy’s name is as he gets lost mapping out his firm chest with his mouth, enjoying it when he can make the guy jerk and grind down into his lap, or when his hands slip into Dean’s hair and to pull it with every nip of Dean’s teeth. 

When Dean finds one of his dark nipples, he gets pulled back by his hair before he can taste it properly, and fuck, that sends a shiver down his spine he’s never felt before. Dean gazes into lust blown, dark eyes and holy shit, how easy it is to get lost in them. 

It’s almost tender when the guy's hand slips from Dean’s hair to cup his cheek, before he’s swiping a thumb over Dean’s lips. Dean can't help it when he leans into the touch.

“My name is Cas.” 

_Cas. Cas, Cas, Cas._

After that it’s just Cas and his warm mouth and clever lips, with his thick shoulders and his _hands_ , his fucking _hands_ that are so goddamn nice; his fingers long and pressing and quick to open Dean’s pants when he pushes Dean down onto his bed. The addicting smell of him is headier here, and fuck, Dean’s drunk on him. On Cas. 

Dean fists the sheets with one hand while the other stays on Cas’s shoulder as he makes his way down Dean’s body, taking Dean apart and making him forget about all of his problems, including his nerves about tomorrow. Cas makes him forget everything except the soft hair now tangled in his fingers and a warm mouth wrapped around him, Cas’s groans shaking Dean to his core until he’s seeing stars explode behind his closed eyes, Cas’s name falling from his lips. 

Cas replaces his mouth with his hand as he works Dean through the rest of his orgasm, Dean just sensations now. He does notice when Cas’s mouth leaves his as Cas rears up to shove his pants and underwear down so he can stroke himself, his hot come mixing with Dean’s as it spills across his belly. Cas leans down to kiss Dean as he continues to stroke himself and fuck, Cas is hotter than anyone Dean’s ever hooked up with before. 

He enjoys their kisses and tries to pull Cas closer, but only gets a grin against his lips as Cas pulls back to climb off Dean’s lap, grabbing a stray shirt to clean the mess on Deans’ stomach. He’s way too fucked out to care if it’s his shirt or not while Cas strips off his tight jeans before being kind enough to do the same for Dean. 

Something in the back of his foggy head makes Dean feel like he’s forgetting something, but watching Cas move around his dorm room, completely naked, is enough for Dean to focus on right now. He comes back with a bottle of water in one hand and a hungry look in his eye and Dean doesn’t remember much after Cas climbs back onto the bed except a lot more kissing and at least one more mind blowing orgasm before he passes out.

Dean sleeps like a baby, the deep, booze fueled kind of sleep that keeps him under until the morning comes. He tries to ignore the wrongness at first, as his brain comes back online, but it’s hard when the sun is shining so brightly on the other side of his eyelids. 

Fuck. Why is it so bright? Fuck. What fucking time is it and where the fuck is he? These are all questions that come pounding back into Dean’s mind as the events of last night start sliding into focus. There’s also the fact that there’s an entire other person pressed against his back, someone who is making Dean into the little spoon, a position he was actually enjoying for a hot minute. 

Until he realizes with growing horror that he is most definitely _not_ in his dorm and, based on how bright it is, he’s definitely fucking late. Practice isn’t set to start until nine, but his dad had insisted on an early morning run and wanted Dean to meet him at the field at six-thirty. 

Dean is dead fucking meat. 

The groan from the guy whose bed he’s sharing—Cas—gets ignored in favor of Dean rolling out of the (way too comfortable) bed so he can find his fucking pants and, unfortunately, when he finds it crumpled on the ground, his cumstained shirt. 

“Fuck, fuck, I gotta go, where’s my— shit—” Dean’s all curses and clumsy hands as he tries to pull his pants on and button his flannel at the same time, his shirt abandoned in favor of jamming his feet into his boots. He’s gonna have to haul ass to get to his room so he can at least change before he gets his head ripped off. “Do you know what time it is?” 

“Too fucking early,” is the muffled response he gets and Dean can only roll his eyes and grab his jacket, unable to give a fuck about much more. 

He’s at least able to remember his manners. “Last night was fun, right? Sorry I gotta bail, but you should call me.” Truth is, he can remember a lot more about last night he’d like to repeat, but he has no time for small talk. He does however lean over to run a finger down the middle of the foot sticking out of the covers and he gets his hand kicked for the trouble. “Call me,” he says again, meaning it. He’s not looking for anything serious, but someone to blow off steam with during the season doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. 

Dean’s pretty sure Cas is gonna call when he gets a huffing, mumbled goodbye before he’s shutting the door and trying to tiptoe slash run as quick as possible down the building’s old stairwell, without disturbing the other occupants. It’s too bright and it’s too cold when he gets outside and it takes him a few minutes to get his bearings but once he sees the street that The Sparrow is on, Dean’s off in the direction of Hoglund Ballpark, where he knows his dad is waiting for him. 

He’s sprinting halfway across campus when the KU carillon bells start ringing, signaling the top of the hour and Dean cringes with each toll, counting each one and dreading how long they’ll ring, echoing out just how fucking late he is. If Dean had time, he’d breathe a small sigh of relief when the bells stop after seven loud gongs, signaling that he’s only a half hour late. His dad’s still gonna have his ass because by the time he gets changed and actually on the field, it will be more like an hour. 

God, what the fuck was Dean thinking? John’s gonna kill him, he’s gonna have Dean running laps all goddamn night for this fuck up and he’s hating himself for being so stupid when he stops in his tracks, steps from the front door of his dorm because his buddy, and team manager, Garth Fitzgerald is already striding towards him, Dean’s equipment bag over his shoulder and a bundle of clothes in his hand. He must have broken into Dean’s dorm room. 

“Where the heck have you been, man? Your dad is on the warpath looking for you.” Garth looks harried and Dean cringes at the thought of his dad losing his shit on someone as nice as him. Dean’s known him since he started school, having met in the weight room Dean spent most of his first semester in. His dad couldn’t come in, and Dean took as much advantage of that as he could. Garth took some getting used to at first, but he’s reliable as hell and a good friend. Case in point, this morning. Dean had given him a heads up that his dad wanted an early start, mostly because Dean planned to be on time and meet Garth at the gym to open it up.

“It’s a good thing you’re sweating, amigo. I told him I thought I saw you lifting weights this morning and I’m supposed to be in there checking for you right now.” He shoves the clothes at Dean. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” 

Dean’s hand goes straight for the pocket of his jeans that he already knows doesn’t have his cell phone in it, and he groans. He hopes he left it on the floor of Cas’s room, versus at the bar or halfway between here and there while he was running. At least it will be easier to get back that way.

Garth notices that Dean’s coming up short and he chuckles. “Well, that answers that.” He’s looking around as he leads Dean towards the parking lot next to his dorm. “Come on, change in my car and we’ll go around to the back of the training fields, sneak you into the locker room from the back side.” 

“Garth, you’re a fuckin’ life saver, man, seriously.” Dean couldn’t be more thankful. Garth might be saving his ass from more hot water than he realizes. His dad hates being kept waiting, and his wrath isn’t friendly and he’s been itching for a reason to cancel Dean’s birthday dinner and unless Dean plays his cards right, this will be it. “Hey, if my dad doesn’t cancel it, do you wanna come to a little family dinner on Friday? It’s kinda my birthday.” 

He mumbles the last bit as he follows Garth over to his old, _ugly_ ass Rancho and climbs in, already pulling his jacket off and trying to ignore how terrible this car is that Garth loves so much. Garth, however, perks right up. 

“It’s your birthday? That’s awesome! I’d love to join your family’s celebration!” Garth’s genuinely beaming as he starts the car, not even flinching when Bell Biv DeVoe’s “Poison” blasts from the stereo speakers. He turns it down without a thought. “Do you really think your dad might cancel it?” 

Dean pulls his new, white practice tee with the blue sleeves over his head. “He might. If he doesn’t buy your little scheme.” 

Garth shakes his head as he pulls into the empty back lot of the sports complex. Everyone, including his dad, parks in the front by the stadium entrance but this one is overflow, and has access to the backdoor of the gym. There isn’t another soul in sight, so Dean might actually be in luck here.

They part ways at the door to the weight room, Dean promising to let Garth know about Friday. 

“I hope she was worth it, man,” Garth replies with a grin as Dean heads down the hall that will take him to the fields. 

He grins back over his shoulder, throwing Garth a wave. “You have no idea,” Dean calls back, keeping his secret to himself and not bothering to correct Garth. The memory of Cas’s swollen mouth flashes in his head and it actually _does_ make the verbal tear down he receives because of his tardiness a little easier to get through.

John gives him an epic lecture about respect and Dean’s responsibilities, and it’s nothing he hasn’t been hearing his entire life. John Winchester’s ideas of respect are skewed; he demands it despite never giving it back, but doesn’t see any flaws in that logic. He also loves to tell Dean he’s not trying hard enough, evidenced by how little he cares about being on time. 

It’s all cyclical bullshit and Dean’s relieved when his dad runs out of steam and he’s able to just do all the running John considers punishment. Dean runs slowly and stretches it out to the start of practice, when his dad has to thankfully take a seat to Dean’s actual coaches, who start their first practice by lining up all forty of his teammates and leading them through drills Dean’s been doing his whole life. 

He falls into the rhythm of it just as easy as anything else he’s ever done. Dean’s good at this, at working out with a team and finding comfort in the repetitiveness of their drills. They get separated by position and Dean finds himself with half the team, the KU bullpen twenty pitchers heavy. His dad’s been drilling into his head that it’s not gonna be as easy for Dean as it was in high school, when he was one of five. It was easy to stand out there. 

Good thing Dean’s ready to work his ass off for his opportunity. 

They do some basic pitching drills and run a fuck load, and by the time they’re done, the sun is directly overhead as the coaches gather them up to go over the rest of the week’s schedule. They have practice every day and are expected to log hours in the weight room too, and it reminds Dean that his social life is completely over. 

At least he got that last, good hookup under his belt, knowing he’ll need something to think back on during the very long drought he’s about to have, thanks to the season. Dean’s lamenting over his soon to be suffering libido as they get split up to work with some of the catchers. 

Any pitcher worth his weight knows that a good catcher means the world to their performance. His dad’s been harping on high school stats for some of these guys for a while but none of that means shit to Dean, when he knows it comes down to more than that. Good statistics are useless when there’s no spark between a pitcher and a catcher, and Dean’s been doing this for so long, that he can tell pretty much right away if he’s gonna click with someone or not. 

There are six guys playing for a full time catching position and Dean’s thrown to three of them and not felt much of anything. They’re decent catchers, but Dean needs to be sure they have his back when his pitches go wild, or when he’s struggling through an inning, Dean especially, considering how much he pushes himself. 

The sun is beating down on him and Dean’s feelin’ it, sweat dripping down his brow. His hat is doing a hell of a job, but still, Dean sighs as he walks off the mound to take a minute before the next guy comes up. He pulls his hat off and wipes his sweaty brow with the back of his arm before settling it back on his head, using his other gloved hand to help. He still has to squint against the sun when he climbs back to the top of the pitcher's mound to wind up for the next catcher in line. 

Until his eyes zero in on exactly who is getting ready to pull a catcher’s mask over his face and cover the lips Dean was sucking on half the night. 

It’s fucking Cas. Cas, standing outside the batter's box in his own practice uniform, royal blue chest protector and leg guards strapped tight to him, highlighting his wide chest and trim waist and holy shit, Dean’s brain is just making that annoying internet dial up sound now as he tries to process what he’s seeing. 

The guy whose bed he spent the night in, whose cock Dean had down his throat no more than ten hours ago, is standing on his field and getting ready to catch for him. 

The frozen look of horror on Cas’s face tells Dean he’s freaking out just as much. 

What are the fucking odds, that out of all the other goddamn students in the bar last night, he had to hook up with a guy on his team? Dean must have pissed off a powerful deity in another life or something, to have this kind of luck. 

There’s just no being gay, let alone out in baseball. The two things just don’t mix, as shitty and fucked up as that is, and it’s something no one ever talks about. It’s annoying as hell, but Dean’s been hiding his sexuality his entire life, so he has no qualms about continuing to do so if it means he can play. 

Until his fucking _hook up_ walked onto the field. 

The coach breaks up their staring contest and Dean can only shake things off and pitch, figuring he’ll just talk to Cas and tell him he’s not out and that will be it. Judging by the nervous glint in his eye Dean can see, even with sixty feet between them, Cas might feel the same way.

Of course, he turns out to be a fucking good catcher. Good enough that Dean has to ignore the annoying voice in his head that points out that Cas has been the best so far.

Practice eventually ends for everyone except Dean, John planning to have him throw for another hour, and it’s obvious Cas is expecting Dean to follow the team into the locker rooms and Dean’s almost sorry he can’t because he wants to get this straightened out probably as bad as Cas does. Instead, he gets put through it for another two hours and all Dean wants is a shower and to sleep forever by the time his dad cuts him loose.

Not before another lecture about John’s expectations, though. 

Dean goes straight for the showers and his mind has shifted to food before a nap when he opens his locker, only for a folded note to fall out. 

**_SMITH HALL - ROOM 227_ **

**_WE NEED TO TALK_ **

**_— CAS_ **

Smith Hall is right by The Sparrow. Dean shifts gears, dressing and running up to his room for some proper clothes, clean jeans and his favorite grey AC/DC shirt. He fucks with his hair a little and swears he isn’t trying to look decent for Cas, not even after he sprays on some cologne, remembering how good he smelled. 

The entire walk back across campus, Dean goes over what he’s gonna say to Cas, knowing the best thing is to give him the normal ‘that was a fun, one-time thing’ speech he has to give sometimes, knowing it’s what’s best. There’s no way they can hook up again if they’re on the same team. 

Smith Hall is busy enough for Dean to walk in like he belongs there, and his heart beats faster, the closer he gets to room two-two-seven. He barely has to knock when the door swings open, Cas wild eyed on the other side. They both start talking at the same time. 

“I didn’t know—” 

“I wasn’t expecting to see—” Cas cuts them both off when he grabs Dean by the front of his shirt to yank him inside and shut the door. 

Dean whirls around, arms wide. “Dude, what the hell are the odds?” 

Cas is leaning against his closed door, head tilted back and eyes closed. Dean tries not to stare at the long line of his throat, Cas making it more difficult when he swallows thickly. “I have no idea,” he answers miserably. 

Good, Dean’s glad to know he’s not the only one bummed out by this random turn of events. He tries not to notice the still messed up bed he spent the night in. Which reminds him…

“Um, any chance you found my cell phone? I’m really hopin’ I didn’t drop it running my ass to practice this morning.” 

Cas pushes himself off the door and begins to root around in the blankets. “Why did you have to leave so early? Do pitchers start earlier than the rest of us?” 

“This one does,” Dean mutters, not wanting to get into it. He glances around the room, not noting anything too exciting outside typical dorm room decorations but still pretty impressed that Cas managed to fit a queen-size mattress in here. No wonder it was so comfortable last night. 

“What the hell does that mean?” Cas asks, before leaning lower to check under the bed, dropping to one knee to reach for something. “Ah-ha!” He pulls out Dean’s silver iPhone. The screen lights up and Cas glances at it before handing it back to Dean, who’s really fucking relieved to see it. “There’s a lot of missed calls here.” 

Dean takes the phone back with a roll of his eyes, not even needing to look and see that they’re mostly from his dad. He tucks it into his pocket. “My dad,” he explains. “Practice starts at six-thirty in his world.” Moving closer to the door, Dean ignores the way Cas studies him. He doesn’t want to talk about how his dad has controlled almost all of Dean’s every move growing up, especially after his mom died. No one wants to hear that from their hook up, and they definitely don’t want to know that kind of shit about their new teammate. “It’s not a big deal, I’m used to it. Just got a little distracted last night.” He bounces his eyebrows and eases his face into a smile, just wanting to play it off now. 

They don’t need to talk about meeting in a gay friendly bar, or the fact that they slept together. They can go on like they didn’t fuck around and Dean can pretend like Cas isn’t the best kisser he’s ever met. Easy.

Cas seems to have other ideas though, if the way he’s still staring Dean down is any indication. He takes another step and what little space the small room affords them shrinks and that’s when Dean gets his first _good_ look at Cas’s eyes. 

They’re deep blue, a blue Dean’s only seen in photographs of exotic oceans, a blue Dean never knew was a real color. Staring into them, that exhilarating feeling from last night returns, and there’s absolutely nothing Dean can do when Cas steps even closer, circling his thumb and forefinger around Dean’s wrist. 

“Do you think you might want to get distracted again?” Cas tilts his head and blinks those blue eyes at him and again, Dean’s brain goes offline. 

What little sense Dean has left enables him to at least hold on to some of his convictions. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” 

“No.” Cas gives his head a little shake before leaning in close enough for Dean to get drunk off that woody scent again. “But isn’t that half the fun of it?”

Grinning wide, Cas presses his soft lips to the underside of Dean’s jaw, tucking his smile against Dean’s skin, and Dean thinks it’s totally possible he’s never gonna be the same again.


	3. Chapter 3

_ End of the first inning… _

Dean doesn’t struggle much through the first three batters. He retires the first thanks to a not so speedy fastball that gets popped out on the second pitch. The second and third batters he retires with his curveball, both batters striking out looking, both of the pitches smooth and expertly thrown. Cas knew they were both curves, just by the way they hit his glove. 

The pure sound of Dean’s pitch is the best music in the world to Cas, and each one is a song he knows by heart, and tonight, Dean’s pitches are singing. 

When Cas met him, Dean only knew two pitches. He had a slider and a scary fastball that was easily the hardest thrown pitch Cas had ever caught up to that point. Cas grew up playing Little League, but it wasn’t until high school that he changed positions, away from first base to take up the spot behind home plate. Cas always considered himself an average player, and he was more than surprised when KU offered him a scholarship to play for them. Cas had never jumped at anything quicker. It was a dream; the opportunity to leave Pontiac, Illinois, and everyone in it behind. After he graduated and left for Kansas, Cas didn’t look back and except for Gabriel, he still has no contact with anyone from anyone from his past. 

Before college, baseball was fun and something he was good at, which made it easy, but until he caught for Dean, Cas didn’t understand what it meant to love what he was doing on the field. He never set out to find his perfect match the first day of college practice. It just happened that way. Even as they warmed up and Cas watched Dean pitch, he stood out amongst all the others. Cas didn’t even realize it was the same guy who ran out of his room like his ass was on fire just that morning. 

Once he got to know Dean (and unfortunately, John), Dean’s quick departure made sense. After getting over his initial surprise, and within the first few of Dean’s pitches he caught, Cas knew he wanted to memorize the feel of them hitting his glove. He has paid the price for it with bruised hands and an occasional bruised heart, but still, Dean’s never left his side and he helps heal Cas every time. 

During that first practice, Cas wasn’t the only one who noticed Dean’s skills. 

Their Freshman year, they met ex-MLB player turned Kansas University pitching coach, Sonny Blake, and his first order of business was perfecting the pitches Dean was already decent at. He calibrated Dean’s fastball, so it was impossible to hit even in the best circumstances, and Sonny made Dean’s slider the nastiest any player at their level had ever seen. 

Baseball is an unfathomable sport to Cas. It’s astounding, the visual acuity needed to distinguish red seams on a white ball as it hurtles towards you, only to swing a tiny stick of wood intending to  _ hit _ that tiny object coming at you at speeds up to a hundred miles an hour. Once, when Dean was in the zone, Cas looked up to see the speed radar blink 101mph. Cas had to ice his hand after that catching session. 

He still has to, some days, if Dean’s throwing heat or insisting on an extra long practice. Cas’s palms have grown calloused over the years, but anytime Dean adjusts anything in his pitch these days, he’s bringing Cas a bag of frozen peas at the end of the day. It’s the only thing that’s ever helped the bruising—just one of the perks of catching a pitcher of Dean’s caliber. Cas’s hand is never sore when he has to catch for any of the other pitchers on the team. 

The Royals at bats aren’t much better than the Yankee’s, their team going down in order. While they waited in the dugout, Cas went over the next three batters Dean was getting ready to face. It’s their usual routine. All week, they work to create a pitching plan for the game and two days before game day, Dean throws a simulated game to Cas. They live and die by their regimen and the podcast wasn’t wrong when they said Dean was throwing hot right now and Cas knows it’s because of the dedication they both have to the game. 

Dean slips back into his groove by the second batter when they return to the field. Cas had to chase down a foul ball for the first out, but every one counts when your goal is twenty-seven. The next batter chases Dean’s curve like it’s designed for them to do, and even the crowd reacts appropriately when the pitch drops seamlessly into Cas’s glove, making the batter almost lose his balance with his hard swing. Everyone always thinks they can hit the floating pitch until the ball disappears from their eyeline and reappears in Cas’s hand before he’s throwing it back to Dean. 

After spending a season working on Dean’s skills, Sonny introduced Dean to the curve their Sophomore year, and over time, the three of them perfected that little trick. It took almost the entire season—Dean didn’t exactly take to the pitch at first, considering it was almost opposite everything he’d been throwing up to that point. A curve ball was like poetry if it was thrown right; an elegant, off speed pitch, thrown in the seventy to seventy-five mile an hour range and with a gorgeous spin that makes it look like it’s floating. For a pitcher conditioned to throw heat like Dean was taught, learning the curve was like throwing the ball underhanded. Sonny had to adjust Dean’s release completely and Dean struggled and fought him on it and Cas was there for it all.

He remembers the day Sonny sat them both down to talk about their relationship on the field. It was shortly after their Sophomore year started and he and Dean had been in the weight room most of the morning, one of the earliest routines they fell into together. When they met, Dean worked out and practiced more than anyone he knew, but it didn’t take long for Cas to adopt his dedication, if it meant seeing more of each other. 

Sonny went on about getting to know each other better, which meant spending time on  _ and _ off the field, and how he was assigning them as each other’s travel buddies, which meant sitting next to each other during travel and rooming together if they ever had an overnight. It took all Cas had to keep a straight face, considering. He talked about how important their bond was, because it could make them unstoppable, and that the two of them controlled the game together and it would be obvious on the field how well they got along. The thing was, by the time Sonny got to them, they were already inseparable. By then Cas considered Dean his best friend slash everything else and as crazy as it drove Dean’s father, not much could separate them. When Sonny sat them down like he was asking for a big favor, they both got a good kick out of it. 

Cas still isn’t sure if Sonny knew he and Dean were more than friends back then. 

When practice started up again, Sonny brought them his plan for the curve and after that it was on, and their entire lives began to revolve around it, Cas’s hand taking a beating as Dean threw pitch after pitch after pitch, for hours until he got it right. 

And now, as it’s been rumored, it might be one of the best curve balls being thrown in the game. Dean tries to use it to retire the third batter in the top of the second inning and Cas can’t argue with those rumors at all, the way these Yankee batters are whiffing through each pitch. 

Dean’s curve is unfair to batters, the way they arch up after his release, only to drop into Cas’s glove with a clean snap. Cas doesn’t have to move an inch to catch the best of them and he’s caught so many in his life, he could do it in his sleep. No one could hit it when it got added to Dean’s pitching rotation back then. 

They still can’t. 

Together, Cas and Dean use the curve to earn the first two strikes, but the batter gets a piece of Dean’s next fast ball, only to line out to center field. It’s not like they can throw the curve every time, but the other team is beginning to put Dean to work, much like they figured would happen. The Yankees have a good lineup, but in Cas’s opinion, Dean’s more than strong enough to handle them and so is his pitching repertoire. 

This is what they spend all week planning for and when they settle back down in the dugout again, Dean doesn’t miss a beat when he goes into their plan for the next three batters, the adjustments he already knows he wants to make the first thing and one by one, he addresses every suggestion Cas was planning to make. 

Just as it’s always been, the two of them are completely effortless. 


	4. Chapter 4

_ Jfc,  _ Cas is such a pain in Dean’s ass. Glancing at the clock again, he rolls his eyes and bangs on the bathroom door. “For the hundredth time, hurry  _ up. _ What the fuck is taking you so long?”

Dean straightens his crappy black tie in the mirror behind the door again while he waits for Cas to finish in the bathroom. He should have said no when Cas suggested they get ready together for the Athletic Department’s End of the Year Banquet, but Cas was just so cute when he asked and then he sweetened the deal by offering Dean a BJ too, and how the hell was he supposed to say no then?

The blow job was awesome, but what isn’t gonna be awesome is when Dean’s ass is getting ripped by his dad because Dean embarrassed him by showing up late. He raises his fist again for another knock, but freezes when Cas yanks the door open, a grin on his stupidly handsome face. He holds his hands out to his sides. “How do I look?”

He looks  _ good. _ His thick hair is tousled and spiked, made to look messy and hot. Cas is usually wearing a hat so anytime he isn’t is like a special little treat just for Dean. His eyes are so damn blue against the crisp, oversized white button down he’s wearing and he blinks them at Dean as Dean raises an eyebrow and takes a minute to check him out. 

If Cas is gonna ask him to look, Dean’s gonna look. 

He smirks at how tight Cas’s black slacks are, no pants immune to those thunder thighs. 

Cas snorts as he reads Dean’s expression. “I’m taking your face as a compliment,” he says, stepping away from Dean to grab his KU zip-up hoodie to put on. If he’s not in his uniform, he’s in some variation of jeans, t-shirt, and a damn zip-up hoodie, and the worn out black Converse he pulls on last always completes his look. 

The fucking hoodie makes Cas look even hotter. It doesn’t matter what the weather, Cas is always in one of these jackets and it’s a damn good look on him. Ignoring that, Dean steps into Cas’s space so he can straighten Cas’s thin, navy blue tie that has somehow flipped itself around. “What’s wrong with you, were you born in a barn?” A beautiful disaster, this one. 

Cas just smirks, shakes his head, and let’s Dean fuss over him as he rolls his sleeves up. “I thought we were late.” 

“Fuck,” Dean swears, letting go of Cas’s tie so he can grab his suit jacket from the back of Cas’s desk chair. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. We might make it if we hurry.” 

Dean doesn’t wait for Cas until he gets to the bottom of the stairs, and he appreciates the speed in Cas’s steps, glad he’s not walking slower just to be a dick. He’ll do that if he knows Dean’s dad is waiting for them. 

That’s why Dean didn’t mention it. It figures he’d find another best friend his dad doesn’t like. John only lets Dean get away with the shit he gets away with because he knows how much better a pitcher Cas makes him. Doesn’t mean John has to like it, and it doesn’t mean it stops him from trying to separate them. 

They end up making it to the school’s banquet hall with enough time to find their teammates and get the flask Cas always has on him filled up with some cheap vodka someone brought. Only the coaches and parents are allowed to drink during dinner, but that doesn’t stop any of the players. They settle for mixing their contraband vodka with Sprite as they choke down shitty catered chicken with rice pilaf, which makes Cas declare that they will be going out for burgers later. It could be awhile, this stupid banquet being for Senior awards, even though team attendance is mandatory.

To stave off their boredom, Dean and Cas drink and maybe play a little footsie under the table. Dean wouldn’t even call it that, it was so little of a thing. He still likes the way Cas keeps their thighs pressed together, even though they both have plenty of room on both sides. 

Dean saw John when he came in, making eye contact so his dad would know he wasn’t late, and then he ignored him for the rest of the night. His dad already told him how annoyed he was that Dean had gotten none of the (very few) undergrad awards, so Dean wasn’t sure why he was even there, if he was so disappointed in Dean’s performance. 

Once he sees John, he understands. 

His dad is sitting at a table with a few of the athletic directors for the college, and Dean sees one or two of his coaches sitting there too. Coach Sonny is a table over and he caught Dean’s eye too when they came in, only giving him a nod of recognition. Better than the glare he got from his dad. 

The banquet is going on its third hour when Cas leans over to suggest they go get some air. Hard as he tries to keep it to the two of them, a few other players notice and slip out too, which makes it even harder for them to get away so they can make out, which is what Cas meant by  _ get some air. _

They don’t get away from their teammates without taking a shot, but eventually, Dean’s following Cas around the building towards the parking lot. It was their cover, Cas saying he needed to grab more booze from his car that got them on their own and Dean’s drunk, but he’s not so drunk that he doesn’t remember that Cas doesn’t even  _ have  _ a car. That’s funny. 

“You don’t have a car,” Dean points out with a laugh, the sound cut short when Cas grabs his hand to yank him in between two parked cars.

“Shut up,” Cas growls as he pushes Dean up against a truck, hidden in shadow to kiss him hard, the alcohol in both their veins running hot under their skin. 

Dean grabs the lapels of Cas’s stupid hoodie to pull him closer, so Cas will press up against him, so Dean can feel him for the short time they can steal. Cas responds by pressing a knee between Dean’s legs, his tongue busy exploring Dean’s mouth. Dean’s head swims and he can only hold on and kiss Cas back, and try just as hard to memorize his mouth.

They never stopped hooking up after the first time. They did a lot of talking and a lot of making out and then decided not to worry about it, especially after they clicked so well on the field. After they decided to be friends with benefits, it was easy, no big deal, something they could do to let off steam. They would grab dinner after practice and end up in Cas's room, sometimes studying and sometimes not, but definitely becoming better friends over time.

Now it was — now it was fine, they were fine. Dean wasn't looking forward to the summer, and the conversations he was avoiding, but for now, he and Cas were as close as two dudes could be, even if no one could know how close that was. Or how naked they liked to get together.

This shit though — this making out in the parking lot shit was as dangerous as it was exciting. If they got caught, they were totally fucked. 

If Dean's dad caught them, they'd probably be dead.

Dean pulls Cas closer to kiss him harder. 

He doesn't know why Cas makes him so reckless but he does, and for a minute or two, Dean forgets to give a fuck about the consequences of kissing the guy he can't admit he might have feelings for, and instead just enjoys being wanted back for a while. 

Cas needs air first, and he pulls their mouths apart just as Dean's hips are twitching. He drags his mouth along Dean's jaw and the cool breeze that follows gives Dean enough sense to know that he can't let Cas get to sucking on his neck like he likes to do, knowing they've already been standing between these cars too long as it is. It's a goddamn miracle no one has walked by yet.

Dean hates to do it. “Cas, come on, we can't stay out here.” 

Cas straight growls at Dean's suggestion before he's pulling away. “You're right, let's go back to my room.”

“Dude, you know I can't.” Dean doesn't stay over on Fridays, not if Cas isn't gonna go practice with him on Saturday mornings. Cas refuses to get up on the weekends before eight. Dean's on the field by six-thirty. Which is why they can't have sleepovers on Fridays, and Cas knows it.

“I don't care,” Cas replies, half his whine slurred and the other half mumbled into Dean's jaw. “I want to finish what we started earlier.”

Cas had delivered on his promise of a blow job, and Dean had to reciprocate, and they ran out of time to do more, which is basically the story of their frickin’ lives. But now that he’s mentioned it, having Cas between his legs again sounds more and more tempting. Dean could totally set an alarm. Hell, he’d set ten alarms if it meant staring at Cas all night, looking the way he's looking. His lips are pink and swollen and it fills Dean with pride, knowing his kisses did that. He has to resist the urge to sink his hands into Cas's hair and mess up his gelled spikes, missing the floppy hat hair Cas has going on all the time. 

Dean's studying him, and Cas is staring back without conviction. He always does, always stares at Dean like he has nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of… like  _ they _ are nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not that easy for Dean, but sometimes, like tonight, when it’s just them and the moon, Dean thinks maybe it could be. 

He leans in, cupping Cas’s jaw and Cas presses into his palm, his eyes falling shut when Dean kisses him, soft, small brushes of their lips together that grow stronger, until their mouths are sealed together as they kiss, and cling to each other and the night. 

Eventually, they’re just holding each other, both of them with an arm slung around the other’s neck to press closer, their other hands clinging to the backs of shirts. Dean’s eyes are closed, and all he cares about is Cas’s warm breath on his ear and the way his hair brushes the side of his face. Whenever Dean drops his walls and they get caught up like this, Dean gets lost in Cas, and nothing else matters. 

Dean opens his eyes at the scuffle of feet, even as their coach clears his throat from somewhere on their left. Cas puts a foot between them, Dean only holding on to Cas for a second before his hands drop to his sides. 

“Gentlemen.” Sonny greets them from the curb, his face half in the shadow. “Everything alright?” 

Cas steps forward, ready with an answer as always. “We’re fine, sir. We were just leaving.” 

Sonny nods. “They’re just about done in there.” 

They’re both about to go when Sonny holds a hand up. “Cas, you go on ahead, there’s somethin’ I’d like to speak to Dean about.” 

Cas’s head whips back and he looks at Dean with wide eyes. Did Sonny see them? What the hell could he want to talk to Dean about without Cas? Dean clenches his jaw and gives his head a quick shake, letting Cas know it’s okay. He knows Cas understands because he leaves. He wouldn’t, if Dean didn’t want him to.

Sonny watches him go before he makes room for Dean beside him, motioning for them to follow the way Cas just went— back towards the auditorium. Dean can only sigh and fall in line beside him. 

Dean matches Sonny’s slow stride, but he’s not gonna say anything until Sonny does. If he saw them, well, he can kick Dean off the team if he has to, as long as he leaves Cas out of it. It’s so fucking stupid, and homophobic, and Dean’s thinking about how his dad’s gonna react when Sonny breaks his silence. 

“Have you made a decision about Tennessee?” 

_ Fuck. _ Dean should have fucking known this had something to do with Tennessee. As much as he’s relieved it’s  _ not _ about him and Cas, he definitely didn’t want to talk about this tonight. 

Three weeks ago, Dean got invited to play for the USA Baseball Collegiate team, a team made up of the best of the best in college baseball, a team built for a chance to play for the US Olympics team. Thousands of students got nominated, but only a handful got offers, and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

Except Dean had already passed one of those up. At least according to his dad… And the Major League Baseball scout Dean turned down in high school. Dean knew he was being scouted, but he didn’t expect an offer, and from the L.A. Dodgers, no less. It was tempting to go play for a historic team like that, but Dean had promised his mom he’d finish school, get a degree… and at that point, he hadn’t told his dad he had already gotten an offer from KU to play for them with a full ride. Major League Baseball could only take Dean as long as he didn’t commit to a school. 

John tried everything to get Dean to wait for the draft, to let Los Angeles pick him to go into their farm system and work his way up to The Show. It was the dream, but it wasn’t at the pace he wanted it to be, and that pissed his dad off big time. He threatened to call in favors to have Dean’s offer from KU revoked, and Dean almost wished his dad would have, so Dean would finally have the proof he needed to know that his dad fucking hated him. 

John had the pull too, Dean knew he did, considering the name John had for himself in Lawrence. It gave him connections, especially since John had no qualms about giving cars away for favors he could collect on later. 

_ Winchester Auto Sales  _ was the biggest car dealership chain in all of Douglas County, and his dad was the man behind it all. He started as a little auto shop alongside Singer Salvage, Bobby’s old salvage yard, which is the first business John bought out when he started making enough money to expand his business. Bobby was working as a mechanic most of the time anyway, so he didn’t have a problem taking the payout. Dean can’t fault his dad for working his ass off, building the business up enough to expand into auto sales and then that was it, that was where his dad made all his money. 

It was enough for Dean and Sam to be born into a decent apple pie life—the house he grew up in had a white picket fence for fucks sake. It was a life where Dean mowed the lawn and took the trash out for a five dollar allowance, a life where his dad played catch with him and Sammy in the backyard. Both boys played Tee Ball, and Little League once they got old enough, but then their mom got sick… and she never got better. 

Mary Winchester may have had the biggest heart, but it wasn’t a strong one. Weakened by heart disease that ran in her family, she still had both her sons against doctor’s orders, and when she was alive, Mary was an amazing mother. When she died of a sudden heart attack halfway through Dean’s last year of middle school, it was the worst thing to happen to him at thirteen years old. 

It was the worst thing to happen to all of them. 

Knowing that the women in her family died young, Mary wrote both Dean and Sam long letters, letters that detailed her love for them, and how they had been the best thing to ever happen to her, and how sad she was to leave them. The letters included her wishes for their futures, too, the biggest being that they both go to college and get degrees in whatever would make them happy. Dean read his letter and vowed to do his best by her, and that included going to college, instead of straight to the MLB.

Dean’s letter also wished him happiness, with whoever he realized he was. His mom knew Dean wasn’t like most of the other little boys, and her letter made it clear that she didn’t care, and loved him anyway, and always would. That letter got Dean through John’s grief, which fucked their family sideways. Aside from throwing himself into work and ignoring his grieving sons, John also became obsessed with making Dean a better pitcher and all-around player with his rigid practices that filled the hours when John couldn’t be at work. 

No one was happy in their household. Sam quit baseball and refused to play and all Dean could do was his best to keep both of them happy, even if it meant taking on the brunt of their dad’s bullshit and compulsion with the game, to keep him away from Sam, so his little brother could do his own thing. 

Maybe that’s why Dean didn’t feel bad about disappointing John when he turned down the Dodgers and the draft by accepting KU’s offer of a full ride to fulfill the wish his mom had for him. She only wanted him to have something to fall back on, in case he couldn’t play baseball, even though she knew he had a natural talent for the sport. When she was alive, his mom was always Dean’s biggest fan. 

He fucking misses her every day. 

When the letter from Tennessee showed up, Dean considered what his mom might think for a long time, entertaining the idea that she might be proud of him, being good enough to be considered for an Olympic level team. It’s not a sure thing, nothing ever is, but it’s an opportunity, and it’s made Dean have to think about what he wants in a way he was kinda hoping to put off for a little while longer. 

No one lets him have anything at his own pace. 

Sonny’s still waiting for an answer that Dean doesn’t have. He shrugs his shoulders in response to his question. “I have another few weeks before I have to give them an answer.” 

If Dean accepts, he’d have to spend his Junior year in Tennessee training and then playing a season for the team. He could still take the classes he needs for his degree and stuff, except he’d be doing it eight hundred miles away from his home and his family and his friends. 

Eight hundred miles away from Cas. 

“Camp fills up quick,” Sonny reminds him, as if his dad hasn’t been reminding him every damn day since the letter came. “This is really a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

Dean’s heard that before, too. 

“But if you don’t want to go, I’d understand and support that choice, too.” 

It’s like a record scratch in Dean’s head. Sonny wouldn’t be pissed if Dean didn’t go? 

Sonny continues. “I’d also stand in your corner, if your dad didn’t agree with your decision.” 

Even more of Dean’s brain shuts down. It’s humiliating to know that someone he admires can see that he’s a full on disappointment to his dad. John’s good about hiding it, but there’ve been a few instances where Sonny’s come across them after hours, or even before practice, John usually in the middle of one of his lectures. John can turn the car salesman charm on in a flash and most people buy it, but it’s clear his dad hasn’t been able to fool Sonny. 

He doesn’t know what to say, so he says the only thing that comes to mind. “I’m still thinking about it.” Because he is, that part’s true. “It’s definitely an honor to get the invite.” 

“It was all mine to nominate you.” 

Dean looks at him sharply. “You did? I thought for sure my dad—” 

“Only certified coaching staff can make recommendations. Your dad had nothing to do with this offer, Dean.”

Well, that's brand new information. 

“Unless there's something else keeping you here? Or someone, maybe?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _ fuck. _ Before Dean can reply or deny or do  _ anything,  _ the auditorium doors get pushed open and people stream outside to fill the courtyard they're approaching. Sonny gets noticed and called away from Dean, but he doesn't leave without giving Dean a serious look, like he wants to keep this conversation going. 

Dean would rather not. 

Before he can even look for Cas in the crowd, Dean gets stopped short by the sound of his dad calling his name.

“Dean! There you are.” It’s clear John was scanning the crowd and he beelines for Dean, and already Dean knows he’s gonna hear some shit. His dad doesn’t waste a minute. 

“Where the hell have you been? There were people I wanted to introduce you to tonight and you embarrassed me, and for what?” 

Dean can’t help but shrink some under his dad’s glare. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s when Dean humiliates him somehow and tonight, it was by not meeting people he didn’t know he had to meet.  _ Awesome. _

“Come on, I’m driving you back to your dorm.” 

There’s no choice but for Dean to follow John right back to the parking lot he came from, and soon, they’re in the Impala and driving across campus. His dad is seething, Dean can feel it coming off him in waves, and it just makes him tired. There’s no winning, and there’s no point in doing anything except gear up for the inevitable. 

“I want you to make a decision about Tennessee.”

_ And there it is. _

Thank fuck the ride back to his room isn’t that far, even if his dad takes the longer way to give himself time to lecture Dean about how important playing in Tennessee could be for him, how he’d be wasting the opportunity by staying and it’s all stuff he’s heard every time his dad gets the chance to run his mouth. Dean half listens, the other half of him considering booking over to Cas’s after his dad lets him loose. He doesn’t check his phone, even though he knows Cas probably already texted him, once Dean never came back.

They’re almost to his room when Dean’s dad starts in on his “irresponsibility”. 

“You know, I was planning to have you drive me back to the house, let you take the car for the weekend.” John stops the Impala in front of Dean’s dorm, throwing her into park with a little more force than necessary as Dean’s heart sinks.

Getting the Impala for the weekend is something Dean always looks forward to. It’s fucking rare, but sometimes John hands the keys over as long as Dean returns her by Sunday afternoon and it’s his favorite thing in the world to drive her around for a few hours with the windows down and the radio cranked. 

He can usually get Cas to join him and once, they drove all the way to Omaha to visit a diner they saw on The Food Network. Guess that’s not happening again anytime soon. 

“Instead, you decided to run off with your  _ friend _ , and get drunk, and now I don’t know why I was even considering it. You can’t even sit through a banquet, there’s no way you’re ready to take care of a car like this.” 

Dean will not roll his eyes, he won’t do it. It will just set his dad off and the sooner Dean lets him run out of steam, the sooner he can get the fuck out of the car. He tries to hurry the process along as he bites back what he’d really like to tell his dad, which is to fuck all the way off.

“I’m sorry,” he grits out, and he doesn’t miss the way his dad’s hand tightens on the wheel in the same second he realizes where he fucked up. Dean tries to save it. “Sir. I’m sorry, sir.” 

His dad’s grip loosens and he replies with a sharp nod. “We’re going to start at six tomorrow, instead of six-thirty.” 

Extra practice: the easiest punishment his dad can hand out to fit Dean’s constant crime—disappointing him. Dean also knows this means he’s dismissed. 

“Yes, sir,” he replies tightly, gripping the handle of the car door the same. Dean only pauses for a second before he’s climbing out of the Impala, the squeak of her car door a slight comfort. Until his dad speaks again.

“I want an answer about Tennessee by Sunday, Dean. Arrangements need to be made.” 

John doesn’t give Dean a chance to respond before he’s driving away, the brake lights of the Impala lighting up as he pulls out of the driveway. Hit by a wave of exhaustion mixed with dejection, Dean’s footsteps are heavy as he climbs the stairs to his room, and he’s glad that the room is dark when he unlocks the door and steps inside. 

One last fleeting thought of turning around and going straight back to Cas’s room flashes through his head but it’s shut down by the sudden need to be in bed, where Dean can hide out and not fucking think about Tennessee for the rest of the night.

Dean’s glad Garth hasn’t made it back from the banquet yet. After Dean’s freshman year, he got to keep his dorm room (thanks to his dad), and since it’s in a building meant for Juniors, he got to room with Garth, since he’s a year older. One perk Dean had been looking forward to cashing in was that he and Cas could room together here next year, but if Dean goes to play in Tennessee, that would be out the window entirely. 

It’s just one of the many thoughts he doesn’t want to have tonight. 

Yanking his crappy tie loose, Dean pulls it off and throws it in his hamper, the rest of his cheap dress clothes following until he’s down to his skivvies, which is more than enough for sleeping. He doesn’t look at his phone until he’s in bed, and he has a few missed calls from Cas, one from Donna, and a full inbox of texts. There’s a few from some of his teammates, and one from Sam and Dean clears them all before he opens the text thread between him and Cas. 

Cas 10:55pm >> _ Everything okay?  _

Cas 10:58pm >> _ I can come back out, if you want. _

Cas 11:00pm >> _ This shit is over, want to meet me by the chem building?  _

Cas 11:15pm >> _ I’m heading back. _

Cas 11:33pm >> _ There’s a party over at delta chi if you want to drink some shitty beer. _

Cas 11:40pm >> _ Back in my room, if you want to talk. _

Dean snorts. Talk, sure, he knows what Cas means by that. The last text he sent was ten minutes ago and Dean knows if he called Cas there would definitely be some inappropriate discussions happening. He’s tempted, just to keep his mind busy, but his exhaustion wins out. 

He shoots Cas a quick text back.

Dean 11:53pm << _ Nice try cowboy, you can “talk” to me tomorrow. _

Dean 11:54pm << _ Gotta be up before six now. You gonna be there? _

Cas 11:54pm >> _ Not at fucking six, what the hell. _

Dean rolls his eyes but grins at Cas’s dramatics. He hates to get up early.

Dean 11:55pm << _ OK sleeping beauty, calm down just drag your ass out of bed before noon, okay?  _

If his dad gets over being an asshole, they might not be stuck at the field all day and after tonight, he wants to spend the least amount of time alone with his dad as possible. John will give him shit all morning, but he tones it down whenever anyone else is around, including Cas, even if he has been slipping lately. He sure is getting worse at hiding the fact that he doesn’t like Cas very much. 

Cas doesn’t like John, so it doesn’t bother him, but it bothers the fuck out of Dean. He just wants one uncomplicated relationship, but John can’t seem to let that fly, like ever. Usually, when Cas is around, John rolls his eyes a lot as he barks orders but keeps his cheap shots to himself. They’ve started to slip though, and Dean can tell Cas hates every cutting remark he overhears. 

Dean just hopes his dad keeps his mouth closed most of the time. The last thing he needs is World War Three between Cas and his dad, especially with Tennessee looming. Dean hasn’t exactly talked to Cas about it, and if John knew, he’d definitely throw Dean under the bus. He is not looking forward to Sunday. 

Another text comes through.

Cas 11:57pm >> _ what did Sonny want? _

Dean 11:58pm << _ Nothing important, don't worry about it. See you tomorrow? _

Cas 11:59pm >> _ Of course, goodnight Dean. _

Dean 12:00am << _ Night, Cas. _

Aside from the days Dean pitches, Sundays are his favorite day of the week. For one, it’s been his “day off” forever. His mom would insist on it, and refuse to let their dad schedule practice, and instead, would plan an entire afternoon around whatever time the Royals game started. It was a tradition Ellen and Bobby kept going after she passed away. 

The Roadhouse is closed on Sundays and everyone gathers there to eat and hang out and watch their favorite team. Donna’s been coming forever and Cas started coming too, after they, uh, became friends last year. The two of them love to gang up on Dean, but all their ribbing is just part of it— part of what makes Sundays the best day. 

Dean played his cards pretty well leading up to this Sunday. For good measure, he beat his dad to the field on Saturday, and after Cas showed up, they worked on Dean’s curve for a good hour or two before John cut them loose in favor of some meeting he had that afternoon. Dean let Cas drag him on a long run around campus before they stopped by Dean’s room to drop his shit off and grab some clothes and his backpack. They both had papers due before finals in a few weeks, and after shooting the shit with Garth (until he kicked them out for not showering yet), they crossed campus together to hole up in Cas’s room for the rest of the day. 

Showers, sex, and studying… The formula for a damn good Saturday. They stayed in this weekend, but sometimes, they go out with Donna and hit a party or two, or The Sparrow for a game of pool. Those nights are always a good time, but whenever Dean doesn’t feel like people-ing, Cas is always down to stay in with him and if anyone asked, Dean would deny it… but those nights might be his favorite. 

They end up lazy, and usually naked in bed with a pizza, one of their laptops and a movie, and considering how fucking fast Dean’s life is always moving, it’s these slowed down moments with Cas that Dean can’t get enough of. Cas doesn’t mind if Dean gets too close, or if he tucks his nose in the curve of his neck. He doesn’t even make Dean admit that they’re cuddling, he just rests his head on Dean’s, or sometimes, he buries his nose in Dean’s hair, which always makes him laugh. 

Cas is good at that. 

The worst part about Tennessee is that Cas can't come with him. 

Dean spent all of Saturday not thinking about that. 

They sleep in on Sunday, and Dean wakes first, warm and tangled up with Cas. Dude is like an octopus when he sleeps and a pro at wrapping himself around Dean in the middle of the night as the crappy ceiling fan tries to keep them cool. Instead of thinking about how much he’s gonna miss these mornings, Dean counts the rotations of the slow blades as he listens to Cas snore softly against his chest. Dean threads his fingers through Cas’s thick hair, loving how soft and floppy it is. He sighs. 

He has to go to Tennessee. Fucking incredible opportunity aside, it was Sonny that made it happen for Dean, and it would be a huge  _ fuck you _ to the guy if Dean didn't go, when he doesn’t have a valid reason not to. 

Missing his best friend with benefits too much does not a valid excuse make. 

As if on cue, Cas stirs out of his sleep, his eyes squeezing tighter shut, as if the room was already too bright behind his closed eyelids. Burrowing his face into Dean's chest, Cas does the cute, full body stretch thing he does, pointed toes and all, ending in him untucking his face to stretch up and kiss Dean roughly under his jaw before he goes back to burrowing.

Knowing he doesn't get to have this much longer, Dean slides his hand free from Cas's hair down to his chin, to tilt his mouth up to meet Dean's own, morning breath be damned. 

Dean's kisses are met with enthusiasm, Cas turning in Dean's arms with a grin to give him the full experience of a lazy, late morning make out session. 

It's a perfect way to start a Sunday and after that, the rest of the day goes out of its way to show Dean what he's going to miss going to Tennessee. It's like the universe realized he made a decision, and it wants him to regret it.

Everyone is in a good mood at the bar, even the evil teenagers, Sam and Jo both too busy studying for their finals to be as sarcastic as two fourteen-year-olds are. They pull off matching middle fingers when Dean wanders over to the booth they commandeered to offer his help (by which he totally meant Cas and Donna’s). 

Ah, teenagers. 

That’s why their booth is on the other side of the bar from the booth he, Cas, and Donna take over every Sunday, the giant u-shaped one in front of the good flatscreen where the three of them can stretch out and watch the game in peace. Cas sits in the middle, so Dean can hide his feet in his lap, and Cas only rolls his eyes a little as he rubs Dean’s legs under the table.

They stay that way, talking shit while they eat peanuts, until Ellen forces Dean outside to be the grill master, something usually reserved for his dad—except his dad hasn’t shown up yet, which is another reason the day is going awesome. John always works at the dealership on Sundays and sometimes he gets too busy to get to The Roadhouse before everyone goes home. Dean’s hoping his luck holds and it ends up being one of those days. 

When Cas follows him out with both their cokes in hand, Dean grins and covers him when he pulls his old silver flask out of his hoodie, spinning the lid off with quick fingers so he can tip clear liquid into both cups. Their hats knock together when they tip their heads closer to cover their shenanigans, and Dean huffs, and playfully tips Cas’s hat up with the brim of his own.

Cas chuckles and closes the flask up before tucking it back into his pocket. “Left over from Friday night.” He fixes his hat and knocks his cup against Dean’s. “Cheers.” Giving Dean a lopsided grin he can only return, Cas drinks and Dean follows and even as they're bickering over when the steaks are actually done, Dean's having a great time, Cas cracking him up when he gets out his phone to google something in order to win his argument.

Dean enjoys getting Cas all worked up because Cas's smile when he's right is one Dean would let put him in his place forever, it's so cute. He gets caught up in it way too easily and ends up almost burning the food anyway. 

Sam and Jo join the rest of them to watch the Royals beat the Tigers in extra innings which is conveniently the same time Ellen is serving up some of her homemade cherry pie and again it's like, could the universe give Dean even a small break? He knows it's gonna suck being away from all this, but do the reminders have to be such salt in his wounds?

They convince the teens to call it a night and join them on the porch, when Dean reminds Sam they have an entire game to recap that he missed while he was studying. Sam loves stats. After he quit playing, he focused on scorekeeping and stat keeping… including Dean’s own pitching (and measly) hitting stats. 

After their mom died and their dad lost his shit, Sam took over as Dean’s biggest fan. He never misses a game when Dean pitches and he keeps score in his own score book that Dean replaces for him every year. His little brother is a good kid and a little genius, and he’s gonna be awesome at anything he wants to do. 

Sam’s only long term goal is getting out of Lawrence, and he and Jo have talked about running off to California for as long as Dean can remember. It’s hard for Sam, living with John, and Dean feels shitty every day that Sam has to deal with John’s crap, while Dean sits pretty in his dorm room, none the wiser. It’s gonna be worse when Dean goes to Tennessee. 

Dean can’t think about that because it feels far too easy to change his mind after the good day they’ve had, made worse when they all go outside to share a pitcher of sweet tea as the heat of the late afternoon dies out. The Roadhouse has a big wrap-around porch with built-in benches, and Dean loves to perch on the railing with his feet resting on the seat in front of him. He climbs up now and is secretly pleased when Cas settles on the empty part of the bench between his open legs. Cas turns his hat backwards, so it's easier for him to lean back and look at Dean and man, is he adorable with his hat like that. 

No one blinks an eye at the two of them as they get settled, the group already talking about the game. It’s a family sport and always has been and when Dean and Donna became friends, she had no choice but to fall for it too, the way it surrounded them. She even played on Dean’s team until they got too old to play co-ed. 

Bobby, Ellen, and Jo aren’t related to them by blood either, but family don’t end in blood, at least according to Bobby. He and Ellen have been in their lives forever, Bobby having been friends with Mary since middle school, Ellen moving to the area during high school and the three of them becoming inseparable after that. Bobby and Ellen have had an on again, off again thing going on forever, the largest ‘break’ resulting in Ellen’s marriage to Jo’s dad around the same time John came into the picture. The middle of the story is muddled and dark and not talked about, but they all seem to have come out of it okay, for the most part. 

Dean knows who his family is, anyway. 

The conversation has spun off course and Donna’s asking Sam and Jo about their finals while Cas leans back to blink up at Dean, the sun casting shadows that paint his cheeks. Dean fights back the urge to lean down and kiss him like he wants to. He knows this look though; Cas is ready to go and he’s looking to see if Dean’s on board. 

He kinda just wants to sit here and stare at Cas for a while. 

Before Dean can get them up to go though, Donna interrupts with refilled glasses of sweet tea. “One more and then I gotta get back and study. Damn Sociology final is gonna be the death of me.” 

Cas nods as he accepts his drink. “Critical writing,” he commiserates, and Dean thinks of all the nights Cas has spent complaining about his English classes, all needed for the History Education degree he’s working on. Teaching as a fallback to baseball is the same route Dean’s taking, except he’s staying on the sports side of things and working on a degree in Health and Phys Ed. Some of his classes have been interesting, with the big exception being Anatomy. Dean hates it. Too many fucking muscles to memorize. 

It probably wouldn’t kill him to get back and crack open his Anatomy book, come to think of it. 

He’s about to nudge Cas up when Dean notices that Cas is doing something weird, pressing his frosty glass against the palm of his left hand. Each time he does it, he winces, and Dean doesn’t like the way Cas’s shoulders bunch like that. 

“What’s up with your hand, what are you doing?” Dean doesn’t hide his curiosity that’s bordering on concern. 

Cas stops, rubbing his wet palm against his jeans. “It’s fine.” 

The bunching hasn’t stopped, so Dean doubts that it’s fine. “Let me see your hand.”

Cas freezes. 

“Let me see, man, come on.” Dean has a sinking suspicion that only gets confirmed when Cas gives in and flips his left palm up, only to reveal two deep purple, blossoming circular bruises covering it. 

They look  _ awful _ and are clearly painful, and Dean’s careful when he leans down to snag Cas by the wrist, Cas sighing and giving in to Dean, now that he doesn’t have to hide his hand anymore. 

“What the hell, Cas, why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

Cas looks back at him sharply before pulling his wrist free before Dean can get a better look. “I’m not hurt, Dean. It looks worse than it feels.” 

Frowning, Dean takes Cas’s wrist again, not getting any resistance as he coaxes Cas’s hand open so he can see the damage. The bruising makes Dean wince as guilt pours through him, realizing they threw way too long yesterday, and maybe Dean using practice to get his aggression out wasn’t the best way to go about things. 

He motions for Cas to put the glass back against his palm before Dean wraps both hands around it and Cas’s hand to hold it in place. Cas sighs and gives up, leaning against Dean’s leg. 

“This is part of my job, you know,” he grouches, his eyes focused on Dean’s hands while Dean can’t stop staring at the long slope of his nose, now that he’s got Cas’s injury situated. He wonders if Ellen will let him take a bag of ice with them or something. 

“Well it’s not part of mine,” Dean argues back. “I’m not in the business of hurtin’ you, Cas.” 

He doesn’t expect it when Cas looks around to see that no one is paying attention to them before twisting enough to press a quick kiss to his jaw, settling quickly back into the vee of his legs, his bruised hand in Dean’s possession and his other curled around Dean’s ankle. Warmth runs through him, and Dean makes himself enjoy the peaceful moment before he doesn’t have them anymore.

Until everything gets totally fucked over. 

“Dean!” His name barked out makes everyone on the porch fall silent.

John is right outside the bar door, his face a hard mask of controlled indifference, and Dean has no idea how long he’s been standing there, but the icy chill in his voice freezes Dean from the inside out. He lets go of Cas’s hand and the glass even as Cas’s fingers flex around it, preventing a spill. 

“I need to see you inside.” John’s tone leaves no room for argument, let alone a reply. “Right now.” 

Cas is already standing as the door swings shut and Dean climbs down reluctantly, his heart pounding. No one stops him, because they know there's no point. Dean doesn’t disobey an order. 

Pushing inside, he sees his dad talking low with Bobby over by the kitchen, and they stop the moment they see him. Bobby disappears through the swinging door, and Dean’s left alone to face the one man firing squad. 

He knows to approach with caution. “Sir, I—” 

“Save it, Dean. I’ve had a long day and it seems like every time I’m not around, you can’t help but do stupid shit. If you didn’t pitch better when—” 

His dad is gearing up and Dean doesn’t give a shit when he interrupts him because he knows that what he’s gonna say will shut his dad right the fuck up. 

“I’m going to Tennessee, okay?” 

His dad’s gaze turns to steel and he doesn’t miss a beat. “Perfect. Because I’m coming with you.”

_ Wait, what? No. No, no, no. _

“It’s not up for discussion. You’re required to room with your teammates, but I’ve already found a place to rent with an extra room. For Sam.” 

Dean thinks he might throw up. It’s like his world is falling apart, and his dad doesn’t seem phased at all. Not given any time to respond, Ellen and Bobby come pushing through the swinging kitchen door in conversation, Ellen with a big, handled paper bag in one hand. 

“John, where have  _ you  _ been? You’re lucky these kids didn’t eat all the food today. They were ravenous—” Ellen stops short when she sees John and Dean facing off.

Dean’s shoulders are heaving as he struggles to keep his breath steady. Tennessee was supposed to be  _ his _ problem, not his entire family’s. Sam would never forgive him if he got uprooted from his life in Lawrence, to go live in a place where he doesn’t know anyone.

“What the hell is goin’ on in here? I was gone for five minutes,” Bobby exclaims, looking between them. “Is this about that damn Tennessee business?” 

Of course they know. 

“He wants to come. Bring Sam with him.” Dean ignores the way his dad narrows his eyes because he’s fucking over this. There’s no way Dean’s going if it means fucking up Sam’s year, too. He shakes his head. “That’s not right, I‘m not doin’ that to him.” 

John rolls his eyes as Bobby and Ellen both protest. “What!” Bobby rips off his hat, angry.

Ellen puts her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing. “John, that’s crazy.”

“I already said it wasn’t up for discussion.” John crosses his arms or his chest, daring them all to challenge him.

It’s like he forgets who he’s up against. 

The four of them are in the same place they stood a few years ago, arguing about Dean’s future back then, too. Bobby and Ellen backed Dean up when he wanted to go to KU instead of the MLB, and if it weren’t for them, Dean’s almost sure he would have given in to the pressure his dad was putting on him back then. Ellen and Bobby aren’t afraid of John, and being that they’re the closest thing Mary ever had to family affords them more patience from John than anyone else gets.

Ellen seems ready to go the first round. “There has to be another way, John. What if Sam stayed with us?”

“For an entire year?”

“Why not? Then he can stay in school.”

“You don't have the room.” John seems ready for any argument until Ellen shrugs and throws her hands up. 

“Me n' Jo can stay over at your house then, it don't matter.”

“Ah, Ellen, for an entire year?” Bobby seems less than pleased with that suggestion. 

Dean hates all of this. He never meant to mess everyone up just so he can go play baseball. “Why do you even have to come with, dad? If it’s gonna fuck everyone’s lives up, I just won’t go.” 

John looks at him like he can’t even believe Dean would say something so stupid, just as Ellen smacks him lightly upside his head. 

“Watch your mouth in my bar, boy,” she warns him, her tone playful but tired. “And don’t you worry about us, we’ll make it work.” Ellen points at Bobby, who’s still pouting. “We’ll make it work, Bobby. We’ll be  _ fine.” _

Dean still feels like shit when she wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. “Your mom would be real proud of you for this, and if she were here, she would do whatever it took for you to be happy. We promised we’d help with that after she died, so we will. You just go play your heart out and kick it in the ass. For all of us.” 

Ignoring the way his dad won’t look at him, Dean turns into Ellen’s embrace, hugging her tight and doing everything in his power  _ not _ to cry. He wishes his mom were here, that they weren’t talking about her like this, or making her friends give up their lives to help raise her kids. 

Dean and Sam owe her and Bobby so much, for picking up all the slack their dad has dropped along the way, or didn't even try to carry. 

“So, that’s settled then?” The coldness in John’s voice pulls Dean and Ellen apart, Ellen frowning as she wipes a tear from her cheek. She stares at him with narrowed eyes long enough that Bobby steps between them because neither of them will stand down. 

“It’s settled,” Bobby answers, dry and scary as hell, looking pointedly at the bag of food saved for him. “Might want to get on home before your dinner gets cold.” He gives John one last death glare before he escorts an equally murderous Ellen back into the kitchen. 

Dean wants to sink into the floor, but John only rolls his eyes. He hates ‘chick flick moments’, or so he calls them, and he especially hates when anyone brings Mary into their shit. The worst part is, John’s not even a little grateful for what’s being offered. He almost makes it to the door before he rounds back on Dean. “I don't want to hear any of your bullshit about this over the next few weeks, Dean. Finish your finals, and after that, practice is gonna take up most of your time before we leave, so don't make plans.”

Dean hates every word out of his dad's mouth, but he stays quiet and nods. What the fuck does he have left to say? No way in hell he wants his dad tagging along with him to Tennessee, but he wants Sam there less. And if it means a school year free of their dad, Sam will probably be excited. He’ll be better off than Dean, anyway.

John isn't done. “Come to the house for dinner tomorrow, you can tell your brother the news.” He turns to go again and has to stop short when he almost runs into Donna and Cas standing behind him. John only cuts Dean one more glare over his shoulder before he stalks out, already barking at Sam to get in the car so they can go home. 

Dean's stomach turns to lead.

His best friends must have slipped in at some point and fuck, Dean has no idea how long ago that was, but judging by their confused faces, it was long enough that he's going to have to talk to them both as they walk back to campus.

So much for his otherwise awesome day. 

Donna takes it unusually well. He expected some yelling and a shoulder punch or two but she must have had enough to drink from Cas’s flask, because all she does is grab Cas around the neck and joke about the two of them taking a road trip to visit Dean whenever they miss him. Listening to them plan is fun, until the unhelpful part of his brain reminds Dean that he won’t get to partake in any of these good times, even though he’s the one they’d be coming to visit. 

Plus, University of Tennessee is over eight hundred miles away, and neither Donna nor Cas own a car. Having his bubble burst because he knows this trip will never happen, Dean tries to sound lighthearted when he reminds them they’re immobile, but both of them laugh it off, like committing to visiting Dean was all a big joke the entire time.

They walk Donna back to her dorm first, and she gives him a tight squeeze before she walks up. She also reminds him he’s gonna be great, just like she’s always done before all of his games and other baseball shit. Dean’s lucky to be surrounded by good people. 

Too bad Cas’s joking mood slips away, not even a few steps from Donna’s door. Dean goes on the defense the quieter Cas gets as they walk across campus. Dusk has settled, the sun having slipped down past the horizon over an hour ago, and all the campus street lights are turning on. Dean checks Cas’s expression as they walk and the closer they get to his dorm, the more his jaw hardens. They only have a block or two to go when Dean can’t take it anymore, and he stops in one of the little pools of light. Cas stops too, but remains quiet. 

“Go ahead man, say something. I know you want to.” It’s killing Dean, to know Cas has an opinion he’s sitting on. He always does, but sometimes he keeps things to himself and usually Dean’s fine with letting them go on without talking about anything important, but this is different. 

There’s a pitch clock on them now. 

Cas doesn’t take long.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Before, I mean,” he clarifies, like Dean needs it. “You've known for a while, right?”

Dean sighs. There's no use in lying because Cas follows the college baseball message boards like a hawk, so he's gotta know who's been talking about their offers already. 

“About a month now.”

“Is that what Sonny wanted to talk to you about? On Friday?”

Dean can only nod. He's had so many fucking chances to tell Cas what was going on and he chicken shit his way out of all of them so if Cas wants to scream at him, Dean deserves it. 

He doesn't expect Cas to nod, and keep walking, only to stop in the next ring of light to glance back at Dean. The long shadow of the brim of his hat highlights his sharp jaw and Dean just wants to sooth it, even though he's the one that's got Cas pissed. 

“Are you coming?”

Dean doesn't expect that either but he falls in line with Cas for the rest of the walk, neither of them saying anything.

When they get to Cas’s building, Dean stops them before Cas can swipe his entry card. “I get it if you don’t want me to stay.” Dean knows it’s been coming, so he wanted to say it before Cas had to be the one to tell him to go back to his own room. This hurts less, easing into the rejection he deserves for hiding this stupid shit from Cas. Dean wouldn't want to be around himself either.

Cas only swipes his card before he grabs Dean's hand to drag him inside the building. He doesn't let go, not until they're closed up inside his dorm room. 

Dean does his best to keep things light. “So you  _ do _ want me to stay.”

“Don't be an idiot,” is all Cas says before he takes over all of Dean's personal space so he can kiss him, hard and sure. Both their hats fall to the floor and Cas wraps one hand around the back of Dean's head as Dean's arms come around him so he can hold on as Cas's momentum takes them stumbling back to the bed. 

Dean's got the way they fit together memorized but so does Cas and they slip into place, Cas’s legs bracketing Dean’s hips, Dean’s arms wrapped around him while they kiss, frantic now, Cas already running his tongue along the seam of Dean’s mouth. Dean opens with a noise he won’t admit is desperate that comes from the back of his throat without warning, the moment their tongues meet. 

Cas is the best fucking kisser. He uses his entire body, with the way he presses them together, and the way his hand always strays to Dean’s hair, so he can pull it, or just press them closer. His other hand is always busy cupping Dean’s cheek, or fighting its way between them to open zippers or slide under Dean’s clothes. Right now, he threads their hands together to press them into the pillow as he blankets Dean with the rest of him. 

Dean can only hold on, and work one hand under Cas’s shirt so he can feel the way the muscles in Cas’s back flex and move, so he can drag his blunt fingernails down Cas’s back and make Cas hiss into his mouth. 

It’s exactly what Dean needs to forget about how shitty everything is gonna be soon. 

He suspects Cas might be trying to do the same, if the way he’s not letting up is any sign. Nipping and sucking at Dean’s lips, Cas drags his hot mouth down, biting along Dean’s jaw and down the curve of his throat, his breath hitching before he buries his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. He tries to suck at the skin there, and he frowns when Dean flinches away from his attempt at a hickey. 

“Under the shirt, come on.” Dean knows he doesn’t have to remind Cas and Cas replies by growling and pulling on Dean’s shirt with his teeth. 

“I hate that rule.” 

“I know.”

“And I hate that you didn’t tell me about Tennessee.” 

_ Shit. _

The kisses have stopped and they're just breathing into each other now, the room still full of the electricity they created. Dean knows he messed up, and he knows that Cas deserves better than that, and all this is just Dean's way of ruining yet another good thing. He says the only thing he thinks Cas deserves to hear. He can do that, at least. 

“I fucked up. I'm sorry.”

Cas pulls away to study Dean in the low light and he hopes he passes whatever test he's taking. Dean wishes he could say more, that he could tell Cas that imagining an entire year without him has been the biggest thing holding Dean back, but that wouldn't change anything and it sure as fuck wouldn't make either of them feel better. 

“You better come back.” Cas states, his eyes dark and unreadable. 

Dean doesn’t even want to go, of course he’s coming back. “Why wouldn’t I come back?” 

“What if they want you for the Olympic team? You’d have to drop out of school.”

Dean scoffs and yanks Cas back down to him so he can’t see how much Dean hates himself because he knows  _ that’s  _ impossible. “Don’t get excited, that’s not gonna happen.” 

“That’s absurd, why wouldn’t it?” Cas’s response is indignantly muffled and Dean can’t help but huff before he reminds Cas what’s what. 

“Dude, I’m Kansas good. Guys come from all over for this camp,  _ real _ talent. I’m filler. Easy to cut when it’s over. That’s why I got the invite.” Dean’s not stupid, he knows how these things work. His dad’s convinced Dean will need to work twice as hard to be better than those guys and he’s right. Dean just doesn’t think he has it in him. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cas pulls all the way back so he’s sitting up and straddling Dean, his glare turned all the way to ten, his hair sticking up wildly. “You’re the best pitcher on our entire  _ team, _ Dean. Best I’ve ever caught, that’s for sure. How do you not know that?” 

Dean prays the darkness hides the way the heat is gathering in his cheeks and he rolls his eyes at Cas. 

“Don’t even go there,” Cas growls. “You are pure talent. It’s not luck or favor that make people praise you, it’s how fucking  _ good _ you are. Put a baseball in your hand Dean, and batters don’t have a chance. And why? Because you work your ass off and you play with all your heart, and that fucking shines every time you throw the ball.” 

All of Cas’s words swirl around inside him, and Dean wishes more than anything that he could believe them. If he’s that good, that hard working, why can’t his fucking dad see it? He grabs on to Cas’s hips just to have something to hold on to, and in the off chance that Cas’s words will somehow imprint themselves in Dean’s brain for all the times Cas isn’t gonna be there to remind him in the next year. After that, who the hell knows. He knows that he wants Cas to be here when he comes back, and now Dean can only promise him one thing. 

“M’coming back, Cas… I swear.” His vow is only a mumble but Cas still understands.

“You better,” he whispers, his face softening as he drops back down so they’re chest to chest, his arms bracketing Dean’s head. Both of Cas's hands slip into Dean’s hair and Dean forgets to give a damn when he pushes up into Cas’s touch. “You’re incredible, Dean. I wish you could see what I see.” Cas leans in then, and Dean shuts his eyes even before Cas’s lips touch his. A shiver goes through him when their mouths brush together and then they’re both all in. 

Clothes come off first, both of them eager to help the other, grins, and slips of laughter exchanged when t-shirts get caught and pants tangled. Their mouths don’t stray long from each other’s bodies, Cas taking his spot back on top of Dean, his thick, strong thighs pinning Dean to the bed. 

Cas takes his time kissing Dean all over, his hands busy sliding and squeezing Dean everywhere, his mouth following in a hot trail that takes Dean apart piece by piece until all he can do is give over to the sensations. His hand goes into Cas’s soft hair when he sucks Dean into his mouth, and it stays there until Cas pulls off with a noise so filthy, Dean’s gonna have dreams about it. 

He wants to reciprocate, but Cas seems to have other plans because he won’t let Dean flip them, instead intent on lining their cocks up so they can rut against each other. Dean whines a bit at the friction and Cas leans over to his nightstand to grab his lube out of the drawer. Just the flick of the cap makes Dean buck his hips and Cas makes quick work of slicking them up and he grins when Dean reaches between them to help, his own hand joining Cas’s and wrapping the rest of the way around them, their fingers slipping together to form a tight channel for both of them to fuck into while they roll their hips and trade deep kisses, Cas’s tongue claiming Dean’s mouth with each dip inside. 

With each of his thrusts, Cas lets out these desperate little panting moans that make Dean’s blood boil and hearing Cas like this takes Dean so far out of his head that he sees fucking stars when the heat overtakes him and he comes hot between them, Cas’s name on the tip of his tongue. 

Cas follows, babbling expletives around Dean’s name and still rolling his hips until they both can’t take anymore and even then, he keeps them pressed together, still kissing Dean, kissing, and kissing and kissing and Dean never wants it to stop. 

Why did that letter have to come? Why couldn't they go on, just playing baseball and being together like this? Whatever  _ this  _ is. It feels bigger than them, bigger than the time they have together, bigger than anything Dean could take on. 

That’s Cas though, bigger than everything else in Dean’s life. 

Dean only wishes he could tell him.

Instead, he returns all of Cas’s kisses and all the affection he gives and he hates it when Cas pulls them apart to leave the bed, only to disappear into the bathroom. Dean can hear water running and he stretches out, feeling the bottle of lube under his hip. Smirking, he tosses it back into the half-open drawer at the same time Cas rejoins him, wet washcloth in hand. He gestures for Dean to lay back and Dean’s smirk stays fixed as he settles his arms up and under his head to get a good view of Cas cleaning him up. 

The washcloth is warm but so are Cas’s lips and Dean’s breath hitches when Cas trails a few more kisses across his now clean belly before he flops down next to Dean with a sigh. Dean pulls one arm free so he can card his fingers through Cas’s thick hair again, unable to resist. 

“It’s just a year. That’s nothing, right?” There’s a tinge of false enthusiasm mixed with nonchalance in Cas’s question and Dean tries to match it when he answers, even if he thinks that’s a really fucking long time. 

“Sure, piece of cake,” he replies, ignoring the lump in his throat as he yanks Cas into their sleeping sides, Cas coming without hesitation as they both turn and fidget to get comfortable. “Plus, don’t forget about your road trip with Donna.” 

“Yeah,” Cas replies, his breath warm against the back of Dean’s neck. They’ve found their spots, Dean on his side with Cas pressed all the way up against him, one arm under his pillow and the other draped over his hip. Something, something little spoon, Dean doesn’t give a shit because it feels damn good to be wrapped up in Cas’s arms. “Do you think you’ll come back for Christmas?”

“Probably,” Dean says, not knowing for sure. He figured he would, before John fucked everything up. Now, his dad will probably make Sam go to Tennessee or something, just to be a jerk. “I’ll be back as often as I can.” 

“Good. Until then, there’s always phone sex,” he jokes and Dean’s glad Cas can’t see him react to the silly joke. Because of course that’s what Cas is gonna miss—all their fooling around. 

It makes his heart sink into his stomach but rather than say anything, Dean replies with a short huff. “Don’t forget about sexting.” 

Cas smiles wide against the back of Dean’s neck and he presses a few more soft kisses along Dean’s hairline. Goosebumps breakout all over his body but Cas doesn’t let up, kissing and rubbing his nose along the sensitive skin there and being here, and knowing it’s all gonna be gone soon has his eyes burning with tears he can’t cry. 

Time gets lost, and before they’ve both nodded off, Cas inches even closer, closing any miniscule space between them. “I’m going to miss you, Dean,” he whispers, and all Dean can do is lace their fingers together and pull their joined hands up to his chest and try to ignore the tear that finally slips down his face. 


	5. Chapter 5

_ End of the second inning…  _

The crowd settles into the game. The excitement of the start and the quickness of the first two innings had them buzzing as people returned from the concession stands, their hands full of food and drinks; hot dogs and beers, popcorn and cotton candy clutched in the hands of kids wearing oversized baseball caps, their eyes shining with excitement in the lights.

Both pitchers remain hitless, and the Royals batters go up and back down just as fast as Dean is retiring Yankee batters, and soon enough, it’s Cas’s turn at the plate. 

He considers himself a decent hitter. His average backs him up, and the team bats him in the occasional tight spot when he isn’t in the lineup and anytime he can get them out of it, it’s a good day. Regardless of the position he’s played in the past, coming up to hit has always been one of Cas’s favorite parts of the game. He’s always found it therapeutic, a simple way to expend energy and his frustrations, everything flying off the bat and far enough away where it can’t hurt anymore. 

It was something he clung to growing up, batting practice sometimes the only break from his chaotic home life, growing up with no father and three older brothers. He’d take a bat and a bucket of baseballs over to the field next to their house, and hit fly balls for hours, until he could hit well past the tree line that separated their property from the one next door. It was an escape, and one he sought solace in often. 

His father was a stranger to him, a title more than anything because of his complete absence in their lives. When Cas was an adult, he found out they were his ‘secret’ family, hidden in the rural hills of Indiana; not like his other family, who he put in the photo for his book jackets. Cas has two half sisters that he only knows exist from those photos. He doesn’t even know if they know about the Novak branch of their family tree. 

Probably not.

Cas is the last of his father’s bastard children—four all together. Luke came first, followed by Michael and then Gabriel, and after an eight year stretch, Cas joined the family. Maybe it was the circumstances he was born to, the ones covered by his mother’s lies that made them a distant family, but aside from Gabriel, Cas doesn’t know his older brothers. His mother was even more of a mystery, Naomi Novak so formidable, she could never warm up to any of her sons, even to this day. Cas has very little contact with his mother and none with his father, who stopped sending child support the day Cas turned eighteen. 

The family he has with Dean is more than fulfilling. 

Luke and Michael sometimes come to games if the team plays in New York, both of them living in Manhattan. Neither of them make much more of an attempt to get to know Cas, and he long stopped trying to plan dinners or meetups with them during those road games, but that’s always been the nature of their relationship. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s a homosexual, or if it’s due to just how different Cas is, but it’s not the most pressing matter in Cas’s life, considering how much he considers Dean’s family his own. 

Cas sees Gabriel much more because he resides in Kansas City, living in a blissful state of perpetual bachelorism. He’s a veterinarian, a career he pursued to “pick up hot people who love dogs”, and it’s not surprising anytime he brings a new person to the games he attends. Glancing over at their family seats, Cas sees a young woman with long, dark hair sitting next to him tonight that he doesn’t recognize. 

Gabe notices Cas looking at them and he waves and nudges his friend to point out Cas sitting in the dugout. His attention still on Cas, Gabe throws him a stink face and a thumbs down, and Cas hopes Gabe can see his eyes roll from the other side of the field. 

So what if Cas grounded out to third during his at bat? It happens. 

In fact, it happens to Dean too, who always bats last and follows Cas in the rotation. He’s putting the Yankees pitcher through it though, and Dean takes at least ten pitches that foul off his bat before he hits a crappy grounder back to the pitcher who then throws it to the first baseman for the third out to end the inning. Dean doesn’t bother going back to the dugout, instead taking his batting gloves and helmet off to give to the batboy before he heads straight back to the mound, Cas already on his way with their gear.

Dean raises an eyebrow and Cas gives him the same eye roll he gave to Gabe. “I don’t need to hear it from you too.” 

“What? I didn’t say anything.” 

He hands Dean his glove and slaps a ball into it once Dean’s got it situated over his hand. “It’s not practical for you  _ or _ Gabriel to think I’ll get a hit every single time.” 

Dean’s eyes glow with amusement in the fading golden light. “A run wouldn’t have hurt us, is all,” he teases, and that’s when Cas turns to go back to home plate. 

His husband is such an ass. 

There’s a snicker behind him and Cas shakes his head as he walks back and he makes sure to meet Dean’s eye before he spins his hat backwards and throws his mask back over his face. Smirking behind it, Cas drops into his squat as Dean does his usual walk around the mound. It takes him a few seconds to settle, especially after an at bat. He burns off the extra energy by taking a few laps, shaking his hands and shoulders out, and tipping his hat a few times. He won’t throw Cas any warm-up pitches until he’s settled, so Cas waits, and it’s only a few more turns before he’s catching Dean’s throws, and the batter is approaching. 

Before they took their at bats, Dean retired three more Yankee batters; two of them grounding out and the other called out on nothing but Dean’s strikes. It’s a delicate balance, a careful dance that Dean leads with confidence, Cas simply there to help facilitate each move. They’ve choreographed every pitch and aside from some simple adjustments here and there, together they put on quite a performance. 

They’ve been good together for as long as Cas can remember, but it wasn’t always that way and the shadows in their past haven’t darkened their doorstep in a long time. 

Cas would like to keep it that way. 

They don’t speak about the year Dean spent in Tennessee. From the moment Dean shared the news that he was leaving, Cas’s whole life went into a tailspin, and his codependency in the sweet, freckle-faced boy he was falling in love with at the time scared the entire shit out of him, and his fear and denial of something so simple cost them both so much. 

They were both so fucking stupid back then. 

Naive and reckless with each other, they didn’t clarify anything before Dean left for Tennessee, and everything that followed was a tangled mess of pain and uncertainty that could have been avoided with a few well timed conversations. They were just too immature to see what they had in front of them. 

It wasn’t for lack of wanting on Cas’s part. He can remember well thought out scenarios of a world where they could be  _ out,  _ where Dean could be his boyfriend, a world where they wouldn’t have to sneak their kisses and hide their affection. That feels like a lifetime ago, but it’s not lost on Cas that they were hiding in a bathroom making out earlier. It’s just not a good time for them to be out, and the life they’ve built, the life they’ve hidden from the public eye, is one they’re both grateful for, especially after they learned what a world without the other would be like. 

Cas can’t stand the hypocrisy of it, but he doesn’t need the approval of any one person in the world, except for the man standing sixty feet away. The simple fact is, it feels like the sport will never be ready, and Cas’s priority is and always will be their well being and safety first. 

Dean throws a lot of pitches in the top of the fourth. More than Cas is almost comfortable with until the second out hits off the bat and lands safely in the glove of their right fielder. Taking a second, he stands, intending to head to the mound and see if Dean’s okay, until Dean stops him with one look. Cas didn’t even take a step forward, but Dean always knows when Cas is gonna visit the mound, and he’s usually right in whether he needs him. 

Sometimes Cas listens. 

Tonight, he trusts his husband. Playing off his delay of the game, Cas kicks at the red clay dirt like he needs the stretch and he just so happens to catch Sam’s eye this time as he looks towards their family seats again. The team gives each player four seats in a section next to the visiting team’s dugout, and Dean’s row is in front of Cas’s, and two of those seats are occupied every single game by Sam and his fiancé Jess. 

The two of them are finishing their degrees at KU; Sports Management for Sam (his sights set on becoming Dean and Cas’s manager once he’s ready) and Marketing for Jess. She manages their social media already, but once she graduates, they can hire her for even more. When the couple approached them with the ideas, Dean insisted there had to be more they wanted to do with their lives, that following him and Cas around didn’t sound all that great. Cas had to agree, given their potential, but he didn’t put up a fuss when they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Dean didn’t either, not really, because Cas knows having Sam close means the world to his husband. 

Sam is holding up his score book and tapping his pencil against it, a clear sign he’s watching Dean’s pitch count too. If he was worried, Sam would be on his feet and it’s just another layer of confirmation that Dean’s doing just fine. 

Dean lets his pitches speak for him when he strikes out the last batter to end the top of the fourth inning, but that’s how he’s always been, his actions speaking for him when words couldn’t. 

How else does a person fall in love without saying a word? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick author's note... if you're a baseball enthusiast and realized that in a real game between these teams, Dean would never hit because of the dumbest rule in baseball... Congrats! Bad news is (I think) the Designated Hitter rule is dumb and I hate it and this is my AU so it doesn't exist. :)) Send me a message if you really wanna chat about it (because I will talk about baseball all day).
> 
> For everyone else, you're beautiful and I hope your day is going great and you're enjoying the story. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Dean shuts his phone off and stuffs it in his pocket. No new messages or missed calls. Hurrying across the street, he flips the collar of his jacket back up, the freezing February air alerting him it flipped itself down again. It’s colder here than in Kansas, and Dean can feel the tail end of the month trying like hell to hold on to winter. He hates this weather, and Dean can only hope it’s gone by the time the season starts in a month. He’d hate to play in this bullshit too, on top of everything else. 

Tennessee isn’t going great. 

Weather aside, in the six months since he left Lawrence, there’s very little about being in Knoxville that Dean finds appealing, least of all his dad’s involvement in his day-to-day life. When they first arrived, Dean spent almost every night on his dad’s rent-a-couch eating takeout and reviewing tapes, his dad having brought recordings of Dean’s games along with him when he moved. They didn’t bring Sam, but his dad kept the spare room, which Dean didn’t understand until John refused them a trip home for Christmas, instead making Sam come to them. John was ready to put the kid on a bus for an entire day to get there until Bobby stepped in and bought him a plane ticket. Dean kept his complaining to a minimum and John let him drive the Impala to the airport to pick Sam up, something John regretted when the boys didn’t go straight back after, instead stopping to Christmas shop and eat. 

John was pissed, but it was worth it to be able to spend time with his little brother again. It helped distract him from how badly it hurt that he didn’t get to go home and see the rest of his family and friends. 

And Cas. 

Hanging out with Sam for a week helped Dean not think about how guilty he felt when he had to tell Cas he wasn’t coming back for break, and he tried not to take it personally when he couldn’t reach him all day on Christmas day. Since then, it’s as if something shifted between them and it’s been nothing but a struggle to even talk some days. 

Thinking about it gets under Dean’s skin in the worst way, and he tries to shake it off as he pulls open the door to the dive bar he’s been frequenting since he got more comfortable around town. Once Dean realized that every night spent listening to his dad talk just to hear his own voice was his personal version of hell, he knew he needed to make some friends and fast. 

Some of the other guys on his team were alright, and once Dean proved that he could hang with them by matching them shot for shot, he had somewhere to be every night, even if it was a shitty dive bar close to campus. They didn't card the underage players, and by the time Dean turned twenty-one, the thrill of being able to buy a beer was gone. He had to work hard to not think about how they would have gone all out back home, celebrating the fact that Dean had finally caught up in age to Donna and Cas. Instead, Dean got so drunk he spent half the night throwing up in the dorm’s communal bathroom alone. 

It sucked, but not as bad as the first hangover as a legal adult that followed.

“Winchester!” 

A chorus of rowdy voices calls Dean out the moment he walks through the door, his teammates taking up a big corner of the bar, their voices making all eyes turn in his direction. Shaking his head, Dean shrugs off his jacket, the bar stifling hot and packed, the roar a dull minimum for now. There’s a house band that starts up around eleven but Dean will be in bed by then, hopefully too shit-faced to lay awake and think about how fucked up everything is. 

A beer is shoved in his hand as Dean makes his way through the group, fist bumping and high-fiving his buddies, the same guys he sees every day, not only at practice and on the field, but in his dorm, too. There’s an entire building just for guys like Dean, here to play for Team USA. He shares a three-room suite with a shortstop and a left fielder and aside from one of them not being able to hit the toilet bowl, they were fine roommates. The dorm’s common areas are general chaos most of the time, which is why Dean stays in his room if he has to be there. 

These guys are cool, though. Baseball players are generally good people. There’s always a racist hiding in plain sight here and there, but those guys don’t last too long once they show their confederate flags off. Idiots like that eventually can’t help themselves.

The homophobes aren’t as ostracized, which sucks, but making a gay joke lands way more often than a racist one, and calling another guy a fag or a pussy is accepted locker room talk. Dean fucking hates it and he tries to call that shit out whenever he hears it. He’s gotten shit for it in the past, but Dean’s front is formidable, and he’s spent his life earning people's respect before they have time to question his sexuality. Dean’s good at hiding it from most people, his dad being the only exception. He can’t help but wonder how John might perceive him if he did a better job at playing straight in front of him. Not for lack of trying, but his dad always seems to see through Dean, even if he doesn’t come right out with it. 

He sure isn’t subtle when he’s trying to put Dean in his place with one of his lectures. His new thing is pointing out what a crappy player Dean’s become since they got here, since Dean  _ lost his “little friend” that used to bail his ass out all the time.  _ The implication behind his tone is thick with disgust regarding Dean’s supposed lacking performance, but his words aren’t that far off the mark. 

Dean hasn’t found his groove yet. He doesn’t think it’s because Cas isn’t there, but he isn’t too thick to know that it’s made a difference. Dean just hasn’t clicked with any of the catchers on the team, and that definitely should have happened by now. He’s already slated to be an early season starter, but those spots are rotated, and he’ll have to work his ass off if he wants to hang on to it. 

In actuality, Dean doesn’t even know if he wants it. 

All he wants is another drink and he doesn’t hesitate to partake in whatever the guys throw at him and it doesn’t take too many shots and listening to everyone shoot the shit before Dean’s fucked up enough to turn his phone back on. 

Earlier, he shot Cas a text after class and by the time practice came around, it was still unanswered. So Dean sent another one. They were no nothing messages, check ins, an attempt to see how everything is going—easy messages to reply to, easy enough to sacrifice a second or two for your best friend. 

He has to bite back his drunk scoff when the thought crosses his mind.  _ Best friend.  _ If that was the case—if Cas was really Dean’s best friend, he’d answer a fucking text message, right? There’d be no twenty-four-hour turn around on that, would there? 

Dean knows the guy is busy but damn— busier than Dean? The season is just getting started in Lawrence. Compared to Cas, Dean’s been in a perpetual state of balancing baseball and school since he arrived, and for once in his life, baseball feels like a job more than something Dean enjoys. And he assumed if anyone in his life could understand that, it would be Cas. 

It’s too bad Dean can’t reach him and find out. 

He scowls when his phone loads a few random texts, but none of them are the ones he wants to see. Hating himself for it, he types out another message and only gets about halfway before he deletes the whole thing… only to type out another message that gets deleted too. Nothing he says doesn’t sound desperate, even to him. Even a simple  _ where you at _ seems like poking after a day of unanswered messages. 

Looking at their text chain, he realizes that in an hour, if he still hasn’t heard from Cas, it will have been an entire day. That hasn’t happened since Christmas, but fuck if it doesn’t hurt just as much as it did that day. 

Dean accepts another beer and makes nonsense small talk, all the while wondering what the fuck he did wrong this time to be on the receiving end of Cas’s silent treatment. If he’s pissed, Dean usually knows why, but their last conversation didn’t give way to any of the usual shit they get into it about, like Cas’s terrible taste in movies (The Fast & Furious franchise?  _ Really?) _ . The more he thinks about it, the more and more likely Cas is just over him. Dean hates the idea the moment he has it, but after that, it’s the only thing that makes the most sense.

It’s not like they’re  _ boyfriends. _ Cas doesn’t owe Dean anything, but it would have been nice to at least know he was dropped, compared to this silent treatment bullshit. His thoughts swirl, mixing and blurring with all the alcohol he’s had and after that, he’s total shit for company, and he doubts anyone gives a damn when he calls it an early night. 

It doesn’t matter, because Dean doesn’t sleep a wink. 

When there’s still no response through the morning, his irritation gives way to concern, and Dean spends the better part of his afternoon classes worried that something might be wrong. He argues with himself through his entire last class that if something were  _ really _ wrong, he would have gotten a call from Donna by now, or Sam, or  _ someone.  _

Leaving his Biology lecture having no idea what was discussed, Dean placates the urge to text Cas again and calls his little brother instead. It's past three so Sam should be out of school already, and sure enough, he answers after the fourth ring.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam sounds distracted.

“What's up, bitch?”

He earns the irritated huff Sam responds with. “What do you want?”

“Just callin' to see how your day was, little brother, is that a crime? You busy?” He might lay the charm on a little, but only because he doesn't want Sam to hang up on him today. The more he grows up, the less tolerance he has for Dean’s nonsense.

Hearing some shuffling, Sam hums his no before he says it. “Nah, just reading for my history class. I have to write a paper about an event in U.S. History that’s missing from the history book…”

It doesn't take much for Sam to launch into his stories about his day, and Dean’s happy for the distraction as he walks back to his dorm. He gets all the way there before Sam stops for air. "I don't know why Jo thinks she's gonna get a better grade than me, but she's the one who bet a week of dishes on it." Sam's been going on about the calculus class he shares with Jo, and their wager is a reminder of just how weird their life is, if Sam and Jo are bartering chores.

That's usually Dean's job. Jo’s borrowing his room, too. 

He clears his throat. “Better watch out for Jo, man, she might surprise you. Might wanna get your plastic gloves out to protect your soft hands from all that dirty dishwater.”

“Shut up, Dean, you're just mad that I'm better at math than you too.”

Dean barely made it past geometry, but Sam doesn't need to say it  _ out loud.  _ “Don't need to be good at math to throw a baseball, Sammy.”

“It's  _ Sam. _ ” 

Dean only receives a brief correction until the mention of baseball gets Sam going again, and Dean's got him on speaker while he changes into his practice gear, throwing on his favorite hat to practice in. No one has to know it's one of Cas's old ones—a navy blue and white trucker hat, soft from wear. It has a red bill and a rooster on the front, and wearing it always makes him miss Cas a bit less. 

Dean didn't even think to steal it for himself—he found the damn thing tucked in the folds of his jeans, deep inside his bag, and he had to fight back  _ something  _ when he realized Cas had put it there. 

Sam's winding down after a quick grilling on how practice is going, his concern over Dean’s starting position a real thing. “Just make sure you keep listening to Dad if you want that spot…” he trails off, almost like he's turning his words over. “ _ Do  _ you want the spot, Dean?”

Dean thinks it's time for a subject change. There's too much here for Sam to have to worry about. “Course I want it. I've got it, you know? Stop worrying.”

Sam huffs. 

Dean changes the subject as he leaves his dorm to head to practice. “Hey, uh, other than that… you seen Cas around?”

Sam must freeze because all the sound coming from the other side of the line almost stops. “Cas? Yeah, I saw Cas the other day.” Sam's suspicious. “Why?”

Dean doesn't want to get into any of this, and to have Sam already on the defense doesn't help. “Nothin’, no reason, I was just wondering.”

Sam's quiet for a moment. “You haven’t talked to him?”

It’s hard to tell over the phone, but Sam sounds too innocent. Then again, Dean’s not sure of anything right now. “I do—I have, just not today.” 

“One day, Dean? Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“What—a fight, Sammy, no.” Dean’s getting frustrated. “I was just wondering if you’d talked to him… was gonna see if you talked to Donna too.” He hopes grumbling covers his obviousness.

Sam scoffs. “Cas is fine dude, stop worrying. I saw both of them at The Roadhouse night before last, playing pool. Donna snuck me and Jo a beer.” Sam snickers and starts telling Dean about that night, every word a reminder that life is going on as usual in Kansas, almost like Dean was never even there to begin with. 

All of his stupid drunken thoughts come rushing back. They’re the same thoughts that kept him up all night and the same ones he forced out of his head this morning and replaced with concern. Well, so much for that. Cas is fine.

Cas is fucking over him. 

Dean lets his anger overpower the pain of his dismissal in Cas’s life. He should have known better. Coming here, Dean knew it had to be only a matter of time. He knew it from the moment he told Cas, and it seemed like things changed. Neither of them wanted it to hurt when they had to say goodbye at the end of the summer, and Dean wasn’t too stupid to know that they both did their fair share of pulling back. He didn’t want to believe Cas would just cut him off, though.

What the fuck else could all this silence mean? 

Sam’s still talking and Dean’s trying like hell to catch up to what he’s talking about, even as he approaches the gym. John’s already waiting by the entrance, on his phone with his back towards Dean. His steps falter because the truth is, he doesn’t want to go in today. He’s never wanted to go play baseball less than he does right now. 

“—So do you think Dad will let me come to your first game?”

The question jerks Dean back into his conversation with Sam, and it reminds Dean why he’s here. He softens. Freakin’ kid brother. “Maybe Sammy. I’ll ask him when he’s in a good mood.” 

“So, never?” The joke is easy and Dean chuckles, even though he can hear disappointment under it. They both know John would find that sort of thing frivolous when Sam’s seen Dean pitch a thousand times already. 

“I’ll just get a permanent spot for ya and then you can come up anytime to see me throw.” Even if the promise feels empty today, Dean might mean it tomorrow. 

“Cool,” Sam replies, hesitant. “Just—get it for yourself, too, okay?” 

John’s noticed Dean now, and even from across the street, Dean can feel the heat of his glare. His conversation with Sam is bordering on a  _ moment _ and thinking about doing anything for himself makes Dean’s stomach turn, but he doesn’t want Sam to worry. 

“Course, dude. I got this.” He sighs and pushes himself forward. “I gotta go man, Dad’s givin’ me the stink eye already. If I get laps for being late, I’m tellin’ him it was because you were telling me about sneaking a beer.” 

“You’re such a jerk, Dean!” 

“Yeah, yeah, bitch. Talk later.” The huff he gets instead of a goodbye is worth it, and Dean decides he likes that new nickname for his little brother.

Walking up to the gym, John’s face tells Dean he wants to talk, and Dean does his best to avoid a lecture, at least until after practice. It takes everything he has to concentrate enough to get through the next few hours with the team, and by the time Dean’s done, he’s barely hanging on. He can’t stop thinking about what Sam said about Cas being fine, his stories about everything being business as usual in Lawrence. The hurt and anger at being unneeded needles it’s way under his skin and it eats at him, and by the time his team practice ends, Dean’s blood is boiling over how stupid he’s been, all this time. 

After their coaches dismiss the team, Dean goes back to throwing to wait out his dad. In every pitch, he tries to toss his pain out with it, but all it does is make him sloppy, and he doesn’t care that none of his pitches are landing in the taped out strike zone on the pad he’s throwing into that displays the stat for each pitch as it lands. Dean’s so pissed off, every pitch is registering in the high nineties, and it pisses Dean off even more that he doesn't have anyone there to see it.

With each wind up, he leans further into the truth of his life: He's alone—Nobody to catch for him, no one to talk to, not a goddamn soul in the world who cares. Pitch after pitch after pitch. 

Dean’s carelessness makes him miss John’s arrival.

“Still throwing shit, huh? What the fuck is with you today, boy?” The coldness behind him freezes Dean from the inside out, and he swears he hears something crack with how tight he grips the ball. It takes everything inside him not to whirl around and let a fastball go right into his dad's stupid fucking face just to show him how well he can throw. 

His dad goes on, unaware of Dean's fury. “Don't know why I hauled my ass all the way up here, if you were just going to waste everyone's time throwing like that.”

All the rage inside Dean overflows, and with his vision tunneling, he straightens, winds up with precision, and throws a perfect pitch right down the middle, hitting the strike zone dead center.

_ 102 mph  _ flashes on the screen.

John sucks in a breath in the same moment Dean turns around and the dam breaks.

“Don’t you fuckin’ say that to me—” John's eyes widen in shock that Dean ignores. “You don't get to fucking say that, dad, like I’m forcing you to be here. There’s no way in hell I'm gonna let you—” 

“Let me?!” John’s eyes flash as he recovers and his face twists in fury. “What makes you think you get to decide anything, huh? It’s not like I can trust you to get anything right on your own, judging by the way you’ve been playing. Over here, too busy crying about your boyfriend to earn your spot, and you think you can tell  _ me  _ what’s what? Think again, Dean. You’d have been cut a month ago if it weren't for me.”

What the fuck is his dad talking about? Dean’s head spins with everything they aren’t saying, implications about… about everything.

Dean looks at his dad, stricken. “What the fuck are you saying?” The words come out as more of a whisper and with way less of the fury that’s beneath them. “What did you do?”

“I made sure you had a chance,” John spits out. “Made sure you couldn’t embarrass me. Can’t find the strike zone from a hole in your goddamn head anymore, so what choice did I have? You think I enjoy kissing the ass of dipshits like Zachariah Adler? He's a pompous prick who doesn't know shit about baseball, but I did what I had to do, and now you have a starting position.”

Dean thinks he's gonna be sick. Pieces click into place as Dean remembers all the times he’s seen his dad chatting up the coaches, his head coach in particular. Dean figured he was jockeying for field access like he tries back home, but his dad was after bigger fish.

Like Dean's entire shot here. 

It’s all a lie now, no matter what he does.

“I quit, then.” It’s the only thing Dean can think of.

John rolls his eyes. “Oh, untwist your wad, it’s not that serious. You should thank me.”

“Thank you? For—for what?  _ Buying  _ my spot? How did you even—” 

“What? Buy your spot—Dean, what the fuck do you think I mean? All I did was buy a few rounds for the coaches as thanks and just so happened to put myself near enough to catch the guy’s ear. You always have to go straight for the hysterics.” John crosses his arms over his chest and levels his stare at Dean. “You need to take this seriously Dean, and get your fucking head out of your ass and back into your game.”

“Why,” Dean challenges, still fucking appalled. “I don’t see the point of this, if you’re just gonna step in whenever you want.”

“You don't see the point?” John’s tone turns deadly and Dean knows where he fucked up without his dad needing to say it, but he does anyway.

“So you're telling me everything your mom went through, it was all in vain? All her hopes and dreams for you, you’re just gonna walk away because you’re mad at me? Wow, she would have loved that, Dean, truly.” John doesn't disappoint when he goes in for the kill. “If she were alive, you'd be her biggest disappointment.”

Dean sees nothing but red when he lunges for his dad and he's face first in the dirt before he can land a punch. John has his left arm wrenched back, twisted, and pinned to his back, and Dean has no choice but to submit.

“Shoulda taught your pansy ass to fight,” his dad mutters from above before he’s shoving Dean free and pushing himself back to standing. Dean’s face burns and he knows if he looks up at his dad, his blind hatred for the man would shine right through.

“We're done here. I expect your ass a mile in by six, you got that?”

Not giving Dean a chance to respond, John walks away from where he left him, and Dean can only hope the dirt that kicked off his dad’s boot as he turned was by accident after it hits the back of his neck, sticking to the sweat there. 

Dean’s only regret is that his punch didn't land.

He needs a few minutes to get his breathing under control, along with the hurricane of emotions inside him. Hatred dominates everything, muting his humiliation and devastation down to a low roar. How can his dad hate him so much, and why would he insist on being so involved in Dean’s life if he did? It's as if his existence is a fucking contradiction of itself, and all Dean wants is a goddamn break.

It's almost as if he pissed off God in another life or something.

Pushing himself up and out of the dirt is punishment itself, and Dean can only be thankful that there's no one there to see him do it. He’s so fucking mad his hands shake, and not wanting to see anyone lingering in the locker room, Dean goes straight to his dorm. Even the cold shower he takes doesn't stop the way his blood boils. All he can think about is getting the fuck out of there and into a bar. He doesn't even care which one, he just needs a drink.

It’s all too much to process, so being fucking angry instead works better for him.

Out of habit more than anything, Dean checks his phone and the emptiness of his inbox ruthlessly redirects his anger straight at Cas. That son of a bitch still hasn't texted him back. It’s further confirmation that Cas doesn’t give a damn. 

Further incensed, Dean throws on whatever he can find that isn’t too wrinkled and makes his way to the closest hole in the wall so he can get drunk as fast as he can. Why not? Who the fuck is there to give a shit what Dean does? 

Loneliness rips through his anger and he drinks another whiskey to ignore it. Everything fucking hurts and the more he drinks, the darker and darker his mood gets, until every lingering fuck he gives is gone. 

Who does Cas think he is? He’s just gonna disappear on Dean? Just like that? After everything they’ve been through, after all the risks Dean took with his career, with their hidden  _ whatever _ happening right under his dad’s nose— John would have fucking killed him if he knew that Dean was— 

The bartender delivers a fresh drink and interrupts Dean’s derailing train of thought, and Dean gives him a grateful nod. His vision is blurring around the edges and he takes another big drink to further the process along as he turns in his seat to scan the room. 

When Dean talked to Sam, Sam said Cas was fine— he said he’d just seen him and Cas was… Cas was  _ good. _

Dean left, and Cas… Cas was fuckin'  _ good. _

Well. Dean could be  _ good  _ too, and at this point in his drinking, he doesn’t give a shit who helps him get there, as long as it keeps his mind off Cas. Before he puts any effort into finding a distraction, his whiskey soaked brain decides it’s a good time to call Cas again. 

It’s not a surprise anymore when he gets Cas’s voicemail. He waits out the end of the message impatiently. “... leave your voice— a mail.” 

“Lissen Cas, ‘m not sure why you decided for us, for you— you decided for yourself that we were over but—” Dean needs a deep breath which comes out noisy and slurred with the betrayal he’s choking on. “I juss wanted you to know that I am  _ fine,  _ it’s fine you know because I'm over you?” His confession comes out as a drunken question, which his inebriated self is happy to answer. “Yeah, Cas, m’over you, okay buddy? Okay. You're not gonna call me back.”

Dean thinks he punched the red end call button before he stuffs his phone in his pocket, but it doesn't matter. He said his piece. At least he's pretty sure he did. Everything is fuzzy, but with drunken clarity, he remembers why he's here. To move the fuck on.

Turns out, he decides to move on with a brunette. She tastes too sweet from all the rum and cokes she drank and she’s too soft when they press together outside his dorm room and everything is a blur when they stumble into the small sitting room of his suite. The whole time he’s kissing her, Dean’s trying not to think about why her eyes are the wrong color blue. 

Once they get upstairs, Dean doesn’t remember much that follows for the rest of the night.

A pounding on the suite door startles him awake. He shouldn’t even be hearing that from his room but one shift of his hips makes Dean realize he isn’t in his bed, a bolt of pain in his lower back alerting him he slept on the crappy sitting room couch. When he sits up, he notices he’s still wearing the clothes he threw on after practice, and his goddamn head is pissed as fuck at him. 

Fuck, what the hell happened last night?

As some fog dissipates, there’s another knock at the door, and Dean realizes that it was just a knock this whole time, and not a pounding like his hangover made it seem. Still unsure why the fuck he’s out on the couch, Dean pushes himself to his feet and staggers over to the door, and without thinking, he yanks it open—and gets the surprise of his life.

Cas is standing in the doorway looking almost dead on his feet exhausted, but grinning a smile so gummy and bright that Dean’s mouth goes dry. Dean takes in his Jayhawks hat and black zippered hoodie and the to-go cups of coffee in his hands and thinks he must still be asleep. 

“Cas? What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Hello, Dean. Surprise.” 

Before Dean has time to process, a door behind him squeaks open.

“Dean?” 

Oh shit. It’s his bedroom door. 

The silence thickens as the night before comes rushing back to him at the same time all the color drains out of Cas’s face, that special smile just for Dean going right along with it. 

Fuck. Dean thinks he’s gonna be sick when Cas doesn’t say a word and turns on his heel to bail. 

“Cas, wait, don’t—” Dean makes a grab for Cas’s wrist but misses and only gets a glare backed with so much heat and betrayal that Dean doesn’t know whether to be terrified or a little turned on. 

Cas doesn’t listen and Dean feels helpless as his shock gets overridden, knowing that Cas is  _ leaving _ and Dean can’t let him. He calls him again and is halfway down the stairs before realizing his feet are bare and there’s still a chick in his fucking room.

Fuck. What the fuck did he do and why the hell is he so stupid? 

Thinking as fast as he can, Dean doubles back to his room to find the girl already coming out of his room, purse in hand and major, pissed off scowl on her face. 

Wracking his brain as he tugs on a pair of boots, Dean tries to at least apologize. “I’m sorry, I gotta go—I don’t—did we—” 

She shakes her head and stops to glare at him. “You passed out on the couch two minutes after we got here.” She’s not impressed by him, and Dean can’t blame her. He’s shitty. He doesn’t remember any of this. 

“M’sorry…” he mumbles again, standing up straight. He needs to fucking go and he goes for the Hail Mary when a name pops into his head. “Really, Vanessa. I was a dick.” He edges towards the door but winces when her eyes narrow. 

“It’s Tessa,” she snaps, and then she’s pushing past him, her middle finger waving goodbye the only parting gift she leaves him. 

Tessa. Fuck. That name is completely absent from his brain. How much fucking whiskey did he drink last night? Did they even exchange names? It’s a move out of his old playbook, one that’s been out of date, and the reminder gets Dean’s feet moving. 

Checking his watch, he winces when he realizes it ten past six but right now, baseball and his dad don’t mean shit to Dean. 

All that matters is Cas. 

Thinking Cas has about a three minute head start on him, Dean can’t make sense of what he’s doing in Tennessee or how he even got here, but Dean doesn’t have to search far for any of his answers when the whining of a car engine being turned over catches his attention. It’s coming from the dorm parking lot, and the morning of surprises continues when he finds the source of all the noise: Cas, sitting behind the wheel of a yellow, late sixties Continental and furiously trying to get the car to start. It’s obvious the engine is flooded but Cas is too angry to stop trying and the closer Dean gets, he can see Cas swiping at his cheeks. 

Fuck. He fucked up so bad. 

“Hey, stop—Cas, stop that,” Dean commands, reaching the car and fully prepared to lean in and turn the ignition off himself if Cas won’t do it. “You’re gonna fuck it up worse.”

Slamming his hands against the steering wheel with a growl, Cas turns the car off and throws the door open so fast, Dean has to scramble to avoid getting hit by the giant thing as Cas storms out. “I’ll walk then. Fuck this.” He reaches in through the back window for his backpack before he even looks at Dean again. “And fuck you, Dean.” 

Dean knows he deserves this. He fucking broke everything. Except Cas—Cas has been ignoring him for days, so maybe he’s not the only one responsible. Even though Cas is already halfway across the parking lot, Dean tries to stop him. He needs answers. “Cas, wait—”

Cas’s steps don’t falter.

“Cas— STOP!” Dean’s voice echoes off the surrounding dorm buildings and it stops them both in their tracks, Dean recovering first and hurrying over before Cas takes off again. He can see his breath in puffs as he jogs over and he feels a tiny sliver of hope when Cas doesn’t move, only turning his back to Dean more, but not before he gets a glance at Cas’s reddened cheeks. 

“Nothing happened,” he starts with, wanting to get that out of the way first. Cas scoffs and it makes all of Dean's anger from the night before come rushing back. “Wait, why are you mad? You’re the one who’s been ignoring me!” 

That makes Cas whirl around, his handsome face clouded with anger. “What are you talking about, I wasn’t ignoring you.” 

“Two fucking days Cas, it’s been two days since I’ve heard from you. You’ve been fucking ghosting me for a while man, come on, I’m not stupid.” Dean hates having to say it, hates having to admit how much it hurts to have Cas pull away from him. He tries not to lose his edge and he has to clench his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me you’re done with me.”

Cas's brow furrows and he's so mad, he's been shaking his head in protest at everything Dean's said but before he can defend himself, the rumble of a familiar engine cuts between them like a knife, the Impala turning into the parking lot.

Dean's heart sinks even deeper into the pits as he realizes he's blown off practice, running after Cas and having it out in the parking lot. His dad pulls up next to where they've been facing off, and his fury with the scene he rolled up on is off the charts. Even as he's pushing open the car door, Cas steps back towards Dean and the direction they came in as John steps out, all looming anger, his eyes shooting daggers at both of them.

Dean braces for an outburst, but the deadly quiet whisper of his dad's hatred is a thousand times worse.

“You need to leave. Now.”

Cas's shoulders bunch, but he doesn't back down.

John doesn't stop. “I don't know how you got here and I don't give a fuck, but you’re gonna turn your pansy ass around and get the hell out of Tennessee before I do it for you. You’re no good for my son or my family, and you won't be welcome around any of us when we get back.”

Something inside Dean snaps, and he hardly registers the way he lunges for his dad and this time, his fist meets its mark in a painful, but goddamn satisfying way. He doesn't even fight when Cas grabs him by both arms from behind to pull him back. Dean shakes him off and straightens his flannel that got yanked off at one shoulder. 

He’s done. 

The damage is fucking done.

“You don't get to decide that, Dad, who matters to us.” Dean's chest heaves. “You don't get to choose who we fuckin’ love.”

His dad’s bent over, but he straightens at that, disgust all over his face. Blood drips from one nostril and Dean knows he's gonna pay for that more than anything else that's been said and done here. 

No one says a word and Cas tugging at Dean's elbow gets him moving again, Dean following when Cas motions for him to get inside the yellow Continental, the jangling keys in his hand the only sound between them. It’s too early in the morning on a Saturday for anyone to be awake, and all Dean wants is to get the fuck out of there before they attract attention. 

His hand is on the door handle when John’s venom stops him in his tracks.

“Get in that car Dean, and I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life.” John isn’t mincing words and Dean doesn’t doubt the lengths his dad would go to hurt him but in that moment, with his knuckles still smarting, Dean doesn’t give one fuck whatsoever. 

“The only regret I have is ever thinking you might somehow still be a good guy, Dad.” 

That said, Dean slips inside the car and thanks every fucking star in the sky when the old clunker starts up on the first try this time, allowing Cas to throw the car in reverse and get them the fuck out of there with John still standing in the parking lot, staring after them. 

“Where—” 

“Anywhere that isn’t here,” Dean interrupts, not letting Cas finish his question. They don’t  _ have _ anywhere to go, and they both know it. At least Dean assumed, because it doesn’t take long for him to realize Cas is taking them somewhere.

Not ten minutes later, he pulls over at an old, run down motor lodge, complete with a diner attached advertising a $5.99 Half Chicken Dinner on Tuesdays. Dean wants to comment that Cas’s crappy car fits right in here, but the air between them is tense, and everything is still awful, so he keeps his mouth shut as Cas parks in front of a room, a crooked number Four marking the door. 

Now that they’re here and staring at the door, it seems like they both realize that Cas was trying to get back here alone because he wanted to get away from Dean. 

Dean knows what he has to do. “I can go,” he begins, at the same time Cas speaks. 

“We should go inside and talk.” Cas looks at him sharply. “Wait, do you  _ want _ to go, Dean?” 

No, Dean doesn’t want to go anywhere. But he doesn’t want to be somewhere Cas doesn’t want him. He shakes his head. “It’s your call, man.” 

Huffing, Cas gets out of the car, backpack in hand before he leans down to address Dean, the angry cloud coming back. “Get out of the damn car.”

Dean flinches when Cas slams the car door and he has to take a second to breathe, to assess, to not put his already damaged fist through the windshield. Instead, he flexes his hand and follows Cas who’s got the door unlocked and is pushing into the dark motel room. 

Following Cas inside, he takes another look at the car before he shuts the door and cuts the room into darkness, before Cas clicks on the light by the bathroom.

The inside of the motel is as kitschy as the outside. The chicken thing must be a theme because there’s some God awful wallpaper of a farm on one wall and a divider made of cut out chickens to block a part of the bathroom. It’s so tacky and exactly Cas’s style, just like that car outside. 

“What’s with the car, anyway?” Dean can’t help but ask. Who does Cas know who owns a car like that? Or who has he recently  _ met _ is the better question. 

That squinty, angry look gets turned back on him, Cas dumping his backpack on the bed that takes up half the room. “Explain to me what the fuck I did to you, Dean, please because I don’t know why I’m the one getting punished here.” 

The pain in his eyes is killing Dean and he has to remind himself about the whole fucking reason they’re here so he doesn’t crumble. “You’re the one who drove all this way, why don't you explain that?” It's shitty of him but he's not ready to say out loud that he's mad Cas doesn't want to be his friend anymore. 

Maybe Cas will say it first.

Frustration boils over in blue eyes Dean's only been dreaming of and Cas turns away, hunching over the bathroom vanity with his head down. He's to the right of the mirror and Dean can see himself in the reflection, alone, angry, and barely standing on his own feet. 

No wonder Cas can't look at him.

“What other reason would I be here, then to be with you?” Cas asks the question with measured words. “And then when I arrive, somehow I'm in trouble, while you're the one fucking someone else!”

Dean flinches as Cas turns back to him and he cant help but notice that even in all his fury, Cas is devastatingly handsome. 

“Then,  _ of course _ , another lovely exchange with John Winchester, another one for the memory books. I figured he wouldn’t be happy if he saw me but—” 

“Wait,” Dean interrupts. “Another one? My dad’s talked to you like that before?” 

Cas’s eye roll is epic. “Dean. Your father hates me. I’m beginning to think it's an inherent character flaw, considering how my father feels about me, but yes,” he snaps. “Anytime you're out of earshot, your dad doesn't keep his opinions to himself.”

Dean thinks he’s gonna be sick. Holding everything back, his voice comes out a whisper. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“How?” Cas's face screws up in confusion. “You know your dad’s a prick but you still—” he cuts himself off, frustrated and fighting with things he doesn't want to say. “Why do you go along with his shit, Dean? How can I tell you the horrible things he says? Why should I be the one to repeat them?” 

Dean's drowning in all those unsaid words and the truth Cas speaks. He’s horrified when Cas has to choke back a sob, and in that moment, it’s like a physical weight lifts as the last of his dwindling allegiance to his dad snaps like a crackling ember. 

Dean knows first hand what the inner darkness in John Winchester’s brain can cough up in a moment of loathing, and he doesn’t want to imagine that ugliness being unleashed on Cas. He didn’t know Cas was on the receiving end of it too, and Cas is the last person on earth who deserves that, given the shitty hand the universe dealt him too, when it came to fathers. 

He takes a step closer to where Cas stands, wanting to fix things but having no fucking idea where to start. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I had no fucking idea. If I’d known, I would have—” 

“What, Dean—” Cas interrupts, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “What would you have done? Hit him sooner?”

“Maybe? I don’t fuckin’ know, dude! I just know that you don’t deserve that.” Dean drops his chin down to his chest, frustrated. 

“And you do?” 

Cas’s question makes Dean’s head snap up, his eyes catching Cas’s. His glare is epic and it’s clear he’s as frustrated and upset as Dean is, his question cutting straight through Dean’s insecurities.

Whatever Cas reads on Dean’s face makes his shoulders slump and his hands drop to his sides. “Tell me what I did, Dean, please,” he pleads, and just as quick, the fight goes out of Dean, too. 

How did everything get so fucked up? 

Having Cas here,  _ here _ , in front of him— it's like it hits Dean all at once. He thought Cas was done with him, that they were over. And then he shows up and suddenly, all of that feels so stupid. 

“You fucking disappeared, man,” he answers weakly. “You used to call and we’d—” He fights against the lump in his throat that wants to shut Dean up because he has to be honest right now. “We would talk like, all night, and we used to watch those movies on Sunday mornings? All of that just— it just stopped, and I figured that meant you were done being my— being my friend.” Dean has to clear his throat after choking on that word. 

All this time, Cas’s head has slowly tilted to the side in confusion. “Why would you ever think I’d want to stop being your friend, Dean? I will always want to be—”

“Sam said you were fine!” Dean interrupts, because he doesn’t want to hear Cas say the word  _ friend  _ again _.  _ It was hard enough saying it himself. “I asked Sam if he had seen you after it was radio silence for two days, and he said you were good, he’d just seen you at The Roadhouse so what the hell, you have time for pool with Donna but you can’t call me? You can’t check in? I’m dying here, man.” 

Everything begins to pour out on its own as he paces in front of the bed.

“I didn't expect it to be so damn hard, you know, coming here and being away from everything. Baseball was supposed to make up for all that, but it didn't. It hasn't made up for anything. M’still not hitting and my pitching hasn't been much better and fuck, this is supposed to be fun and now—now I don't even know if I want to play next year, let alone jump on some Olympic team full of guys I don't know.”

Cas made a pained noise when Dean said he might not want to play anymore, and it's the exact noise his brain makes every time Dean thinks the stupid thought. He didn't mean to admit that, but his mouth just does what it wants now. 

“And I didn’t sleep with that chick.” Great, more word vomit. “I don’t even think I wanted to, I just— I think I just wanted to feel something.” Defeated by that last admission, Dean can’t even look at Cas, instead stopping to stand at the edge of the bed. The comforter matches the shag green carpet and all he can do is stare and focus on that as his confessions settle around them. Cas is gonna know he’s weak now, that he can’t take the pressure of doing anything on his own when in reality, he simply doesn’t want to. 

His attention gets pulled away from a hole in the blanket when worn, black Converse step up next to him. Cas’s favorite pair. Homesickness overwhelms Dean when he lifts his gaze, only to find haunted blue eyes staring back at him. 

“Dean, I never meant to make you feel that way.” Cas’s voice shakes and Dean’s fingers curl into his palm as he stops himself from reaching out. “But it’s true that I haven’t been honest about how I’ve been spending my time since you left.” 

Dean’s heart sinks. Fuck, there’s someone else, Cas has a boyfriend and he drove all this way to tell him. Cas would be the kind of guy to want to say something like that to Dean’s face. He braces himself before all his fears come true, and the guy he was never supposed to fall in love with gets ready to break his heart. 

Even as he admits it to himself, Dean wants to shove those feelings into the deepest compartment he has and glue the fucking lid shut. He was never, ever supposed to fall like this, knowing there wasn’t gonna be anyone to catch him, someone who might be able to love him back. 

Dean wishes he couldn't feel anything.

“I have been less available to you, but I assumed with your schedule here, it wouldn't be a big deal.” Cas takes a deep breath and Dean thinks his heart is gonna burst out of his chest. “After you left, I wasn't expecting how hard it would be.” He clears his throat. “Without you,” he clarifies, and Dean can't breathe. “I missed you,  _ very  _ much and the only thing I could think to do was get a job.”

_ What?  _

“I've been working at one of the campus coffee carts. My intention was to work until the season started and save the money, so I could come visit.” Cas says all of this in a rush as Dean's head spins. Cas got a  _ job?  _ Selling  _ coffee? _

“Do you know how expensive plane tickets are? It's not just around the holidays, Dean. I realized it would be easier to work towards buying a cheap, used car and,” he gestures towards the parking lot. “Well, you saw her.”

“Her?” Dean can't help the corner of his mouth that goes up in amusement. Cas has always teased Dean about calling the Impala his Baby.

A flash of hesitancy precedes the small grin Cas gives in return. “Connie.”

Dean's eyebrow goes up on its own and Cas matches that too, daring him to make fun. It's way too cute to burst Cas's bubble, so Dean just shrugs. But wait, why did Cas keep all of this a secret?

Cas's shoulders droop the moment he reads Dean's confusion. “Knowing it was making you feel this isolated, I never would have asked everyone to go along with my ruse of keeping it a secret.”

“Wait, who knew? Everyone as in, everyone?” This seems impossible to believe but Cas is nodding and grimacing, like he’s expecting Dean to lose it. Except… Dean’s not mad. He thinks hard about the last few conversations he’s had with people back home. “Sammy too?” Everything Cas is saying is making sense, making things click into place, the missed connections between them all explained by Cas having to work.

“I’m sorry, please don't be mad at any of them, I'm aware you hate surprises but it sounded so good at the time when Donna suggested it. No one meant to harm you…” Cas teeters on his feet as he trails off, watching whatever Dean's face is doing as he processes this information.

There’s a loud voice in his head screaming that it’s too good to be true, that Cas would do so much just to see Dean. Dean’s been crying about Cas doing nothing when he’s been out doing the most this whole time and fuck, Dean’s an  _ asshole. _ Cas deserves better, as if that wasn't already clear.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” Cas says, wary. 

Dean shakes his head. “Why me, man? You should do something like that for someone who doesn’t assume you’re out fucking around and forgetting about them, you know? I'm not worth that much effort.” He spits the last part out, hating the way the truth tastes. 

Blue eyes darkening, Cas's face clouds in that hot and angry way again. “Why would I drive almost eight hundred miles in that clunker out there that barely has a functioning heater— not to mention the rest of the shit that doesn’t work— if I didn’t think you were worth it?” His tone leaves no room for argument, as if Dean could form words right now. Cas doesn’t give him a chance either, not pausing for a breath as he takes over Dean’s personal space. “You are worth  _ everything  _ to me, Dean.”

Closing the distance between them, Cas yanks Dean to him by the front of his shirt for a steaming, rough kiss. The heat behind it burns Dean down to his molecules and he’s sure everything about who he is gets rebuilt thanks to Cas’s kiss. Rather than fall to his knees to worship like he wants, Dean tries to return it with just as much intention, so Cas knows he feels the same. 

It’s always felt impossible, that Cas could even want him, let alone more… not like this. Never in his wildest dreams did Dean let himself consider anything close to this. 

He hopes nothing is ever the same again.

Not wanting any more space between them, Dean pulls as much as he gets pushed down onto the bed, Cas’s body blanketing him in such a familiar way that it hurts. God, he’s missed this, and Dean has to kiss Cas harder to keep himself from sobbing out loud and it's like Cas knows when he deepens their kiss, nipping at Dean’s lips and teasing his way inside with a flick of his tongue. 

Shaking hands fumble with buttons and zippers and Cas’s hat goes flying when Dean can no longer fight the urge to sink his hands into Cas’s thick locks and it doesn’t take long until they are both naked, and breathing hard into each other’s skin. Cas has Dean laid out, flushed and on the edge of falling and he keeps him there, until out of practice fingers can’t rip open the foil condom packet, and Cas has to use his teeth to do the job. 

It makes them both chuckle when Cas celebrates his victory with a bounce of his eyebrows and just like that, time slows to a crawl as Cas rolls the condom on, only to kiss Dean as he hitches his leg up so he can press slowly inside him after Cas took his time to make sure Dean was ready. Dean’s positive he’s gonna break apart, but he doesn’t care, he  _ wants  _ to, because he knows without a shadow of doubt, Cas will be there to help piece him back together again. 

Dean holds on to that thought and rides it all the way, until Cas is asking him if he’s close, if they can finish together, if he can have this part of Dean too, as if he doesn’t already own all the rest. They come together the moment Dean nods and asks for the same, his pleasure in Cas’s capable hands, and he swears he can see galaxies swirling in Cas’s dark blue eyes as he falls into them, everything else lost and meaningless in the moment. 

It takes forever to come back down to earth too, both of them too consumed by the other to want to part. Dean’s missed this, missed the feeling of Cas’s skin, the taste of him, fuck, even the sound of his breathing and it wasn’t until he was immersed in it did Dean realize how much he needs this in his life. 

They’re silent for a long time, breathing together and listening to real life continue outside the four walls that keep them locked away. It’s easier like this, it’s always been better when it’s the two of them alone and safe from judgement and scorn and every other stupid thing that’s put in their way. Here, they can be themselves and when he’s with Cas like this, it's the  _ only _ time Dean gets that luxury in his life. 

Being in Tennessee has only proven that to him. 

“If I came home with you, do you think Sonny’d let me back on the team, even though my position got filled?” 

He doesn’t mean to break the silence, but the question comes out before Dean can stop it. Quitting anything is his literal worst nightmare but he can’t deny that he’s been thinking about it and Cas is the only person he trusts to be this vulnerable with. No one else would understand. Plus, Dean can’t be held responsible for anything he says post orgasm. 

Cas has been staring up at the water-stained ceiling and he turns, propping himself up on one hand to study him. The blanket falls away from his bare chest and his gorgeous face shows no judgement, only concern. “Do you hate it here that much, Dean?” 

Leave it to Cas to cut through Dean’s bullshit. He sighs. “I just don’t think I fit here, Cas. It’s nothing like I thought it’d be and I dunno, baseball used to be fun. Now it just feels like work.” 

Cas hums noncommittally. “Thought all these guys were supposed to be the best. It’s not working with anyone?” 

“They didn't let me bring the best with me,” Dean grumbles, still in the afterglow and a little mesmerized by all the golden skin in front of him. The freckle near Cas's nipple is distracting. 

“My eyes are up here,” Cas says wryly, noticing where Dean's attention went. Dean grins and earns himself a sweet, lingering kiss that brings the tingle back into his lips that was fading. “But seriously, is it that bad?” Cas frowns. “Have I really missed that much?”

Now that Dean knows why, he keeps his sarcastic  _ yes _ to himself. “The team isn't terrible. Some guys are cool to hang out with, and my suite mates are okay.” 

Cas's frown deepens at the mention of Dean's dorm and it's a reminder of what brought them here. Dean still doesn't like to see it and know he put it there. Reaching up, he cups Cas's cheek, making Cas close his eyes while his face stays etched in pain. “Hey.” Blue eyes flick open, locking with green. “You are the only one for me, Cas, I need you to know that.”

“Dean.” Cas's voice cracks on his name but he doesn't tear their gazes apart. 

“I'm sorry I was so stupid, and I'm sorry you had to see it. I  _ hurt _ you, Cas, and if that makes me not deserve you, I'd understand. You deserve the best and that ain't me right now.” 

Cas pushes himself into a sitting position at that, and Dean scrambles to follow, the blanket pooling around his lap. “I wish you wouldn't say that.”

“Why? I fucked up. I assumed the worst and the whole time I was feeling sorry for myself, you were being your awesome self and—” 

“Dean!” Cas cuts him off, his voice stern. “Would you please stop? This isn't all on you so stop trying to absolve me of my responsibility. I could have been honest with you about my employment without giving you the whole reason but, I didn't. I’m sorry, in case that wasn’t clear.”

Cas is making points. And it’s nice that he’s apologizing, even if Dean doesn’t think he needs to. Plus there’s that whole thing about doing it because he wanted to see Dean. Guilt still eats at him, especially considering his uh,  _ friend  _ (Marissa??) but he doesn’t want to bring that up again, considering the storm clouds seem to be leaving Cas’s face. 

Grabbing Cas’s hand, Dean holds it between his, rubbing his fingers over Cas’s knuckles. “Can’t believe you did all that…” He trails off, just wanting them to get past this so he can see Cas smile again. “All that, and you still ended up with that piece of crap outside.” 

Cas groans and wraps an arm around Dean’s neck so he can push him down into the sheets. “You’re an idiot.” Ignoring Dean struggling to get back up, Cas rolls himself off the bed, not seeming to care that he’s still naked. 

Dean hides his grin and flops back down into the sheets as Cas goes to his duffle, opening it to take out a phone charger so he can plug it into the wall by the bed. He rescues his phone from his pants and plugs it in before he disappears into the bathroom, all while Dean rolls around to stretch his muscles, his ass twinging in a good way.

He doesn’t feel totally better about being a dick, but a lot of weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

Closing his eyes, Dean stretches his arms up over his head, enjoying the pull of his muscles—until a warm, wet washcloth hits him in between his chin and his neck. “What were you aimin’ for?” He asks as he uses the cloth to clean his stomach clean of his own come, not to mention the lube left further south. He throws the dirty towel towards the bathroom, letting the motion carry him over and onto his side so he can watch Cas move around. 

Still naked as ever, Cas is a sight for Dean’s sore eyes as he cleans up their towels and discarded clothes, his long frame strong and tan. Cas moves like a wave, the curve of his body as he bends over his duffle something artists would want to draw if given the chance. Dean never thought he would use the word beautiful to describe another man, but that’s the only thing he can think of when he looks at Cas. 

Cas is beautiful, and he has been ever since Dean’s laid eyes on him.

The space between them becomes Dean’s number one annoyance. He hasn’t had Cas within reach for months, and he’s starting to feel greedy. “Cas, come back here.” 

“Give me a second.” Cas rummages for another second before he’s snapping his fingers and taking something out of the bag, something Dean doesn’t see until Cas is leaning over to the hotel radio, straight out of the eighties, which Cas takes advantage of by loading a cassette tape into the tape deck the clock radio has. 

Heat grows in Dean’s cheeks because he knows what tape Cas is putting in. The first chords of Ramble On fill the room as Cas settles back into bed beside him, not hesitating to slip right back into Dean’s arms.

It’s the first song Dean chose for the mixtape he made for Cas before he left for Tennessee. He didn’t know what the fuck to do that could show Cas how much Dean already knew he was gonna miss him, so he stayed up one night filling a tape with his top thirteen Led Zeppelin tracks for Cas to listen to while Dean was away. 

“You uh, you found it.” 

“I love it,” Cas replies, matter of fact. “I listen to it almost every night.” He leans back so he can look into Dean’s eyes. “Thank you.” Leaning in, Cas kisses away the blush that dusts Dean’s cheeks, drifting to his mouth and across his chin, his lips tickling Dean’s mouth into a smile. 

Cas makes everything better. And Dean was so stupid to doubt him. Even as he has the thought, he pushes it away, because Cas said he could, because Cas told him he didn’t have to take all the blame this time, that they’d both fucked up. No one’s ever shared the burden with Dean. Ever since his mom died, he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and making sure no one else had to help and then Cas came along and didn’t give Dean a choice in the matter. 

Dean fucking loves him so much. 

He waits for the world to come crashing down but it doesn’t, it just keeps being perfect, here in Cas’s arms with the world locked out. Dean’s in love with his best friend, and even as he’s opening his mouth to say so, Cas stops him.

“Dean, I want us to be boyfriends,” he blurts out, blue eyes wide and serious. “I’m tired of not knowing where we stand and I think—I think you are too and I think we would both feel better, having that clarity between us.” He softens some, gazing into Dean’s eyes. “I want to be yours, Dean Winchester, I want you to want only me and I don’t want you to find someone else in some bar when you’re lonely.” 

Dean’s shaking his head even before Cas is finished. “I do want you, Cas, I do, I do, God—Don’t you know, Cas? Don’t you know how gone I am on you?” Every word is meant to show Cas how much he means it, how bad Dean wants exactly what Cas just said. He reiterates just in case. “I want that too, okay, please.” 

“Really, Dean? Because I’m not saying we have to come  _ out, _ this is for us, not for anyone else.” 

“I would Cas, if you wanted me to, I would tell the whole fuckin’ world how I feel about you just to prove that I don’t want anyone but you.” Dean's dead serious, ready to give anything up if Cas asked at this point. 

What he doesn't expect is for Cas to cup his face with both hands. “You already told the person who needed to hear it the most, Dean, back at your dorm. Do you know how much that means to me?” Serious blue eyes study him, and something catches in Dean’s throat, knowing Cas heard his admission while he was hell bent on defending himself. “And I don't want you to blow up the world for us, that's not what I need. I just need you. And baseball.” His thumbs caress Dean's cheeks and he leans in to press their foreheads together. “Whatever and  _ wherever _ that means for us.”

Dean closes his eyes. “You think I should stay.”

“Stay. Finish what you started and pad your resume for the scouts next year.” Cas sounds confident enough for Dean to believe it might not be that bad an idea. “Then when it's over, I'll drive back to pick you up and take you home.”

Home. Dean knows the moment he slips into that Continental again at the end of the year, he'll already  _ be _ home as long as Cas is behind the wheel. 

“Promise?” Dean believes Cas but still craves the confirmation. 

He accepts Cas's promise when he feels it behind the brush of Cas's lips against his own. “Would I lie to my boyfriend?”

“It would be a pretty crappy tone to set,” Dean grumbles, slipping a hand around the back of Cas's head to pull him closer. Thick curls brush his palm and slide through his fingers and remind Dean what he's been missing. It makes him kiss Cas that much harder, silencing his chuckle and turning it into a pleased hum that Dean chases all the way to the end of the mixtape's first side. 

Cas has the willpower to pull them apart so he can roll over and flip the tape. Dean watches as he fusses with his cellphone, powering it up. “I think the first thing I'll have fixed before I come back here is the cigarette lighter. I thought I bought a bad phone charger at first but it ended up being the damn car.”

A distant memory stirs in the back of Dean's mind.

“My cell battery died twenty miles out of Lawrence and that was two days ago.” Sighing, Cas lays back down, only to pick his phone up again when it dings a few times. He squints at the screen. “Wow, there's a lot of missed calls from you.”

_ Oh no. No, no, no. _

“You left me voicemails too? You hate those.” Cas is already tapping in his code to listen before Dean can even try to stop him. He considers doing something drastic like throwing Cas's phone against the wall when his (no doubt soon to be ex) boyfriend scrunches up his nose at whatever he's hearing. 

“Delete it, Cas, just— stop listening and delete it.” Dean doesn't remember a lot of what he said but judging by the look on Cas's face it was something epic and most likely stupid and that makes him nervous.

Until Cas explodes with laughter, just completely losing it. “You're… over me?” He chokes out the question around giggles. “Ok, Rachel.” More stupidly cute laughter. “Based on what we've done, I thought you  _ preferred _ being  _ under _ me, if you know what—”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Dean snaps, trying to control his own laughter as he slips a hand over Cas's mouth to cut him off. “Now delete it.”

“Mmpph,” Cas attempts to speak with Dean's hand still covering his mouth, his blue eyes sparkling until Dean removes it. “Delete it,” he scoffs, rolling over to tap the screen out of Dean’s reach before turning the screen off and tossing it back onto the nightstand. “I’m keeping that voicemail forever.” 

Every emotion Dean has is brought to the surface to swirl inside him as the music starts, and Cas slips back into his arms, one leg getting thrown over his hip. The B side kicks off with Kashmir and as the room fills with the low rock music, and Cas nuzzles into him, Dean knows he’s never gonna need anything more than this. 


	7. Chapter 7

_Top of the fifth inning…_

There is still no run support to be had when the Kansas City Royals can’t score in the bottom of the fourth inning. No one even gets on base, and it doesn’t build the most confidence to know they need to go back out there and keep battling. A run always eases tensions, but it is what it is, and there’s nothing to be done except go back out on the field and fight. Together.

Neither of them speak about it, but Cas knows Dean’s mind is whirling as he takes the mound, and both men are re-calibrating Dean’s upcoming pitches to compensate as the next player steps into the batter’s box.

It’s no one on their team’s fault; the Yankees pitcher is throwing just as good a game as Dean. It doesn’t matter how many hours of footage they watch, no one can predict when a pitcher is going to have a good game. The same goes for bad days. A pitcher could be at their peak performance, wake up on the wrong side of the bed, and throw so bad he gets pulled from the game after two innings. 

It’s all part of the beauty of baseball.

Even though it doesn’t happen often, it does happen to Dean. No one is exempt from bad days, and even though he often thinks Dean can do no wrong, Cas also believes in statistics and math and Dean’s pitching stats don’t lie. His earned run average per game is always under three and has been the entire season. If more than three runs score off his pitches, that number would change, but Dean will go that much harder to make up for it. It’s just the way he operates.

Dean doesn’t seem to be thinking about any of that when he throws a clean fifth inning. His first out is earned by a fly ball to first base, no one needing to move besides Cas to back up the first baseman. By the time Cas gets back behind the plate, Dean’s on the mound and ready to throw, and he looks _good_ when he strikes the next batter out with his curve. Two fastballs came first, but Dean’s nasty curveball got the guy looking, and even he was shaking his head as he walked away, surprised by how quick his at bat was. 

Cas loves that his mask hides the twist of his lips as he smirks and throws the ball back to his husband. Dean always knows when Cas is amused because he can read Cas’s eyes better than anyone, and he’s shaking his head as he takes the mound again. 

The next batter hits into an easy pick up by their shortstop who throws it to first base for the third out and just like that, the team is heading back to the dugout, Cas feeling really good about the inning Dean threw. His pitch count is still low, hovering in the mid fifties, and Cas knows without a doubt Dean’s got a ton of heat left in his arm. 

Dean’s long game has always been built around his fastball. As a starter, a pitcher needs to have a long game, the ability to throw well long enough to stay in for multiple innings, the standard for most being a minimum of five, but Dean—Dean averages seven, eight innings on a good night. It’s another reason he’s turning heads and it makes Cas confident in his current assessment, and excited to see where the night leads them.

He learned long ago to put all his trust into the strong, gorgeous man sitting beside him in the dugout. Trusting Dean is what got Cas where he is, and he hardly spares a thought to what might have been, if they hadn’t both been drafted out of college to the Royals. It’s not worth worrying over where his life would be if the scout that took an interest in Dean refused to spare a glance at Cas, too. 

Those what ifs don’t matter because she did and it got them both here, and had Cas not trusted in Dean, his life wouldn’t be the fairytale it is, compared to the boring story it was before. Standing beside him has always made Cas stand taller, prouder, to know that he’s loved by a man like Dean Winchester.

Dean’s always been everything to Cas, and he loves the life they’ve built together.

It’s taken a long time to get there, but when Cas thinks back on that weekend in Tennessee, instead of letting it be a painful memory, he considers it the first brick in their solid foundation. Until then, everything between them felt like it was balancing on an unraveling thread. Both of them allowed their insecurities and all the conversations they weren’t having threaten the very thing they both wanted—each other. 

Not leaving the motel room, they spent the weekend in bed, wrapped around each other in every way possible. The talks they had were full of confessions and all the words they weren’t saying and in between those incredible discussions, they made love and _worshipped_ each other, loving on a different plane of existence, it felt like. They’ve moved heaven and hell since then too, and Dean still sends Cas flying on a rather regular basis. 

His husband is made of stars, and Cas is lucky to be able to worship him, to live within his orbit. Dean has always been special, more than most, and Cas does what he can to make sure he knows it. 

It was Tennessee that made sure of that. 

It wasn’t until Dean returned to Lawrence that their improved communication skills ended up making them that much better on the field, too, which translated into a lot of attention when it came time for the scouts to come looking for talent. Thanks to the incredible athletics program they were in, scouts knew that KU was going to deliver talent but a well-placed phone call on their behalf brought to town the woman that changed both their lives. 

The year after Tennessee was a whirlwind of long nights together, writing papers to complete their degrees, and playing the best they’ve ever played together. All while they fell harder for each other, their profound bond solidified further. 

Cas can feel it now, sitting side by side in the dugout again. Heads pressed together, they go over Cas’s notes, so engrossed in discussing adjustments that they miss the fact that their team gets on base. The roar of the crowd raises their eyes as the runner steals third base, and they can’t look away until the run scores thanks to good base running and a poor throw from the Yankees. 

If anyone was looking close enough, they’d see both Cas and Dean relax as the runner crosses over home plate. 

The next batter ends up being the third out and as they take the field, Cas doesn’t notice the way Dean’s shoulders stiffen again. He assumes everything is fine— until the first pitch Dean throws makes contact with the bat and gets hit to the shortstop. Cas’s heart stops and doesn’t start again until they throw the runner out at first base, their amazing teammates in the infield providing the support Dean needs to earn the out.

Cas’s eyes narrow as Dean paces around the pitcher’s mound more than his usual solo loop. His pitch count is still low, but it seems as if he’s struggling, and Cas’s gut is full of lead when Dean shakes off three of the pitches Cas signals for, refusing to throw anything he suggests. Never mind that the pitch Dean _does_ throw is the fast ball Cas suggested first, except this one is wild and in the dirt. Cas has to scramble to capture it with his thighs, closing them quickly and using his frame to keep the ball where it is, caught between the outside of his glove and his left leg. 

Heart beating wildly, Cas stands and doesn’t hesitate to set off for the mound, intent to soothe his husband and find out what the hell he needs because Dean, Dean doesn’t throw into the dirt. Sometimes a pitch will slip and go wild, but rarely like this. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine Cas, I’m _fine.”_ Dean’s already muttering by the time Cas reaches the mound. Both their gloves come up to cover their mouths and Cas just raises an eyebrow as Dean goes on. “Sammy starting wavin’ his book at me as we walked back out and it got in my head.” 

Cas clenches his jaw but says nothing to Dean, instead making a mental note to speak to Sam later, only conveying his disdain with a slight narrowing of his eyes. 

“I know, you don’t have to say it.” More than once, Cas has had to remind Dean that together, _they_ call the shots and that his brother isn’t fluid in the language only they speak. Looking to Sam mid-game is only ever a distraction to Dean and, well— case in point. 

“I’ll simply say that your pitch count is still manageable and as small as it is, you have—” 

“Okay, okay,” Dean interrupts, emerald eyes pleading with him to stop before Cas can remind him of his run support. Dean’s eyes flick over Cas’s shoulders and he knows the umpire is almost there, coming to collect him back to the plate. Their allotted time for discussion is long expired. “I’m fine,” he says one more time, this time with a finality Cas has no choice but to believe. 

He still tries to get a response in. “Dean, I—” 

The umpire cuts him off, speaking to Cas’s back. “Gentlemen.” It’s his way of indicating that Cas needs to get his ass back to home plate so the game can resume. Over thirty thousand people are in the stands, watching them converse and waiting for them to get on with things so the umpires try their best to keep things moving along. 

“He’s coming,” Dean replies, innuendo slipping onto his face as soon as Cas can hear the umpire hum his acknowledgement and walk away. “At least he will be later.” At least Dean has the decency to drop his voice when he decides his leer needs more follow up. Dropping his glove and smirking, Dean tilts his head to hide his face so only Cas can see his wink. “Now, go away.” 

Cas pierces him with an intense stare, loving them but staying immune to Dean’s flirtations. “Stop worrying about your curve and throw it when I tell you to throw it. It’s perfect tonight.” With that, he turns on his heel to go back to his place behind home plate, knowing his husband is watching his ass as he goes. Dean loves Cas’s white uniform pants. They’re extra stretchy and clingy for the deep squat he has to take, and he knows what he looks like in them. He makes sure to bend over in Dean’s direction when he picks up his face mask and he can hear Dean’s snort despite the roar of the crowd as he settles back into his position, a smug grin on his face. 

Dean said he was fine, and he proves just how fine he is by using his slider to get his next out and he’s pretty much showing off when he retires the last Yankee batter with a beautiful, floating curveball; the spin of it so perfect, the laces form a solid red circle as the ball hurtles towards home plate. The snap of Cas’s glove as he catches the ball is almost as satisfying as the way the batter spins around in an attempt to hit it and the guy is so mad, he vents his frustration by snapping his bat over his knee on the way back to his dugout. 

Dean’s full on smirking as he trots down the dusty dugout steps, and all Cas can do is shake his head, hide his smile, and follow wherever Dean leads. 


	8. Chapter 8

**_“The Kansas City Royals select Dean Henry Winchester, right-handed pitcher for Kansas University, in the first round of this year’s Major League Baseball draft.”_ **

The breath Dean’s been holding for the last month and a half leaves his body in a huge, relieved sigh. Even as he’s convincing himself he couldn’t have heard right ( _first fucking round?!)_ Dean’s being crushed to death by the long arms of his baby brother, hugging the crap out of him as the entire crowd of people inside The Roadhouse explode with excitement and loud cheers.

In a daze, he barely registers Sam’s excitement. “You did it, you did it, Dean,” he babbles, his joy overflowing and piercing through the disbelief in Dean’s mind. Sam has to shove him away with a laugh, pushing him right into Cas’s arms, his hug quick but tight, his mouth brushing Dean’s ear not at all by accident, but done so well and with so much practice that no one around them blinks an eye. 

“You did it, Dean,” he breathes out and fuck, reality finally sets in. 

Dean just got drafted to the fucking _Royals._ The actual, honest to goodness _Kansas City Royals._ His favorite team growing up, thanks to his mom, and now Dean’s just… one of them. Just… on the team.

It’s unbelievable. After Tennessee, after everything changed between him and Cas, other things in Dean’s life seemed to tilt on their axis too. 

The last thing he ever expected was for his dad to clear out. Cas didn’t leave Dean’s side until practice came around on Monday. Dean was prepared for another showdown with his dad—except John wasn’t at practice like Dean expected him to be. And when he didn’t show up for three days in a row, Dean went over to his condo, only to find it cleaned out, empty, parking lot Impala free. Around the same time Dean was discovering this, John was arriving back in Lawrence and, according to the ton of calls Dean received after, not speaking to anyone about why he was back. 

Dean told them all what happened, his story confirmed by Cas, but John kept himself away all on his own, Bobby not given the chance to ban him like he wanted to. Dean worried about him being back home with Sam, but even after Ellen and Jo went home, John did the bare minimum. According to Sam, he was never around. It was another small miracle on top of many, but even now, Dean waits for the other shoe to drop. He has, ever since John left Tennessee and even more so in the year since Dean’s been home and once his dad hears this news, Dean’s sure he won’t be able to resist showing up.

Head spinning, Dean doesn’t have time to think about that as he’s yanked out of his seat by a few pairs of hands, people eager to hug and congratulate him. Most of the girls are crying except Donna, who’s beaming so wide that her smile splits her pretty face, and all she chants is: _I knew it, I knew it,_ in between kisses and a hug that tweaks his ribs. 

Dean has to bite back his own tears when Ellen squeezes him breathless, whispering how proud she is, how proud Mary would be, everything Dean knows his mom would say if she were here. His throat burns with unshed tears with how much Dean misses her in this moment. 

A few escape when Bobby pulls him into a rough hug too, slapping Dean’s back as Dean marvels at the rarity. He’s able to count Bobby’s hugs on one hand and hell if he can’t hold his tears back any longer after that. 

“Proud of you, boy,” Bobby growls, Dean not at all missing the moisture around the old man’s eyes. “Can’t wait to see you play in our own backyard.” 

Dean huffs wetly. “Gonna take some time for that to happen, old man, but—” Fuck, Dean’s struggling. How do you thank a man who stepped in to be your father when your own dad couldn’t cut it? “But yeah, yeah—you’ll be at the first game.”

“Damn right we will,” Bobby answers, arm going around Ellen as she joins them. “And we got some business to discuss with you, when all this excitement dies down.” Bobby nods towards the crowd of the rest of their friends from the area, all gathered to watch the draft. Ellen went all out with viewing party food and drink and it’s already been a hell of an afternoon, waiting for things to start. They’re gonna go crazy, once Cas gets drafted and they can celebrate. 

Dean has no clue what kind of business he might have to talk about with Bobby and Ellen, though. Still, he nods before he turns back to where they’ve been sitting, facing an enormous screen and a digital camera that MLB sent over, to record their reactions as the draft was announced, streaming the players something new the league is trying.

If Dean gets his way, he’ll get to do his interviews later with Cas. 

The scouts showed up as soon as the team started practice their Senior Year. Dean and Cas were both eligible for the draft by then, but neither of them wanted to talk to anyone right away, and together they planned to wait until the season started. Before that happened though, Sonny approached them to introduce them to a friend of his, Missouri Mosley. 

Missouri also happened to be the first African American woman to become a baseball scout for the Major Leagues; the Kansas City Royals, specifically. She became a staple at every single game they played in (even some Cas played in without Dean), and Dean knew this was happening because of her. He can only hope she delivers on all her promises.

Settling in his seat, Dean glances over at his boyfriend. Cas is glowing, deep in conversation with Donna about the other players drafted in the first round to all the other teams, something Dean missed during all the congratulations. Their relationship is still a secret (except for Donna, she knows everything), and all Dean has to do is press his knee to Cas’s to get his attention.

“Anyone we know?” He asks, gesturing towards the television. After the first pick, twenty-one more teams had to choose players and now that the first round is over, the station is on commercials before round two starts. 

Cas squints at the screen as the broadcast resumes. “That third baseman you played with last year, what was his name? Henriksen? The Cubs picked him up.”

Yeah, Victor was pretty good, from what Dean remembers. Tennessee isn’t something he holds too fondly, except for the Cas filled parts. Dean did his best with the rest, things getting way easier after his dad left, but it was still the biggest relief of his life to see Cas smiling behind the wheel of his car on move out day. 

When they were far enough away from campus, Cas pulled over so he could kiss Dean stupid, making him feel alive for the first time in months. All the pain of missing him went out the window when Cas finally kissed him again, and Dean doesn’t even care how cheesy that makes him, Cas just does that—he just makes everything better. 

Cas and Donna may not have been able to have their epic road trip, but Dean and Cas took their time getting back, and Dean lost track of the number of nights spent in empty baseball fields found on rural highways, stadiums built to hold little leagues and high school dreams, fields that were familiar to them both, but only feeling like home now that they were together. They spent nights under every star in the sky, Cas making Dean feel like they were floating up there with them and it was a place Dean never wanted to return from. 

Dean was afraid it would wear off when they got home but it never did, Dean still falling every time Cas fixed him with that intense stare of his, his blue eyes swirling with words Cas never needs to say. 

Dean’s always happy to fall.

Caught in the stare he loves so much, Dean says the only thing on his mind. “You’re next, you know.”

“Dean,” Cas admonishes, breaking their staring contest by shaking his head. “There’s four more rounds. You know teams always go for catchers in the last rounds.” 

The truth is, Cas doubts he’s got a chance this year. They’ve had some heated discussions about it, but at least Cas is humoring him instead of saying it’s impossible, like he does every once in a while. It’s a crazy notion, but Cas always flips it back on Dean’s own issues with self doubt and well, Dean can’t argue with that.

So, he has to be confident for both of them. 

A conversation he had with Missouri on her last day in Lawrence gives Dean hope. She was confident Dean was exactly what the Royals were looking for, and it was then that Dean didn’t hesitate to confess the truth behind his talent.

He wouldn’t be the pitcher Missouri would promise the team, if it wasn’t Cas catching for him. Dean couldn’t be the same pitcher without Cas. Dean can’t be the same _anything_ , without the man next to him. 

Cas is who makes Dean great, in every way he believes he can be. 

He wishes the bar was empty, or they were alone, so he could hold Cas's hand as the next round starts. Dean settles for holding his breath instead, while they wait for the fourth pick to come around again. If the Royals pass on him this round, another team could pick Cas up, and that right there is Dean's worst nightmare, that he goes to Kansas City while Cas runs off to Arizona or somewhere crazy, like Florida. 

Dean’s never said it out loud, but if the Royals don't pick Cas, Dean probably won't sign with them. He'll take a year off if he has to, but after the lessons Dean's learned, he's not ready to be away from Cas yet, not if he can help it. He can work at The Roadhouse for a year and drive Cas's car to and from wherever he ends up… Texas, maybe? Gross. No, thank you. Dean hopes it doesn’t come to that.

Cas’s big brother Gabriel interrupts Dean’s wandering thoughts when he clasps Cas on both shoulders from the seats behind them. Gabe drove all the way from Ohio where he’s finishing veterinary school, just to watch this broadcast with Cas, and he gets points from Dean for the effort. Gabe’s a cool guy when he wants to be, but Cas keeps him at arm lengths most of the time, so Dean does too. 

“Get ready for your world to change, baby bro,” Gabe says as he squeezes Cas’s shoulders, winking at Dean before sitting back in his chair and ignoring the way Cas bats his hands away. Dean rolls his eyes and almost misses the next thing the announcer says. 

**_“The Kansas City Royals select Castiel James Novak, catcher for Kansas University, in the second round of this year’s Major League Baseball draft.”_ **

Chaos erupts again, but all Dean hears are Cas's sobs in his ear, his beautiful boyfriend having thrown himself in Dean's arms the moment they said his name. Dean’s bursting with so much pride, he can only hug Cas tight as he pulls himself together, Cas’s hand clenching the back of Dean’s shirt until he’s ready for Dean to let go. 

They've perfected celebratory hugs down to mere moments, but for this, they both enjoy the extra indulgent seconds. 

And then Cas is getting passed around as much as Dean was. Dean tries to keep his face neutral as he watches Cas make his way around the bar, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. There's a lot of people there to see them both, friends they’ve made through school and from spending time at the bar, and everyone is just as happy for Cas as they were for Dean. Cas only expected Gabe to show up for him and seeing so many people proving that insecurity wrong makes Dean happy. 

Their graduation was to blame, when they kept that family only, and despite the invitations Cas sent, the only one in his family to show up was Gabriel. Cas tried to pretend he wasn’t disappointed, but Dean knew better. 

It’s why seeing him receive a bunch of well earned congratulations over this accomplishment is so special. It helps that Cas is shining and looking happy in a way Dean doesn’t see too often. His smile only gets gummier when Bobby and Ellen approach him and wrap him in a big, tight hug, and that’s when Dean looks away, to give them the moment.

He loves his family for accepting Cas as one of their own. 

The bar has descended into chaos. Everyone wants to talk to them, and in between all that, Dean’s phone is ringing off the hook, and his inbox is full of congratulation texts. It’s all so fucking surreal, and it’s only chance that Dean’s looking at his phone when the screen lights up with a new call, Missouri Mosley’s name filling the screen. He cuts the conversation he’s in short, and answers the phone as he hurries for the exit, snagging Cas by the elbow as he passes. They both need to talk to the woman who just changed their entire lives. 

It’s quiet when the bar door closes behind them, Dean already hitting the _speakerphone_ button. 

“Missouri?”

“Miss Mosley?”

“Boys? Do I have both of you?” Missouri’s honey rich voice pours from the phone's tiny speaker. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Missouri, Mr. Novak?” 

“Maybe just one more time, ma’am.” Cas answers, turning on the charm and flashing it at Dean, his joy radiating from him. Dean knows he’s smiling just as hard because he’s just as happy.

Missouri answers Cas with a sarcastic, “Mm-hmm,” and as much as Dean loves their usual back and forth, he’s too excited to keep quiet.

“Thank you,” he blurts out, unable to keep his mouth shut a second longer. “Thank you, Missouri, so much. I— we—we owe you everything.” Dean doesn’t care how stupidly excited he sounds because he is so excited, it’s _stupid._

Missouri kept her word. When she talked to Dean one on one before she left, she told him she intended to make sure they were both Royals, otherwise she hadn’t done her job, and Dean’s so thrilled, he’s willing to admit he was a whole entire dumbass to doubt her for even a second. 

Missouri only chuckles at him. “You two boys are the golden ticket and you don’t even know it. The contracts this team is about to offer you two are practically criminal, but I already told them every single penny is gonna be worth it, when these two bring home another one of those fancy rings y’all like so much.” Dean and Cas are both blushing, pink flushes covering high cheekbones as they smile wide at each other, blue and green eyes sparkling. “I told you I only go after the best, Dean Winchester. Now, I can’t sit here and chat with you two all day, and both of you need to be ready for some big phone calls coming your way.” 

Anticipation spikes through Dean for the first time as she goes on. “It gets hot in Arizona, so I suggest you pack accordingly when you report for Spring Training in January, and until then, you stay outta trouble, you hear me?” Her tone leaves no room for argument, not like either of them has a death wish. She leaves them with parting words that both men will never forget. “Play with all your hearts, boys. You’ll find it’s hard not to be romantic about baseball.” 

Awestruck by the onslaught of information and wisdom, they can only stutter out more thank yous as the call disconnects, Missouri's picture fading as the screen goes dark between them. His adrenaline still going, Dean presses his forehead to Cas’s shoulder as silence settles around them, and it feels like he can finally breathe. Realizing they’re alone for the first time in hours, Dean doesn’t stop his arms from snaking around Cas’s waist so he can close the distance between them, only because he knows their solitude isn’t gonna last. 

“We did it, man, can you believe it?” Dean whispers his question into Cas’s shirt, and Cas’s breath hitches near his ear. It tickles and Cas smells warm, like cedar and their sheets, and suddenly, Dean wishes they were in their room and in their bed, celebrating the biggest accomplishment in both their lives. 

Too bad Cas doesn’t get a chance to respond.

“Dean, Cas, I hear congratulations are in order.” 

Dean regretfully steps out of Cas’s arms, which also found their way around his shoulders, and he turns to Sonny, his voice carrying from the other side of the patio railing. Their coach is grinning as he makes his way up the couple of stairs that lead to the wrap-around patio Dean and Cas are huddled on, taking their call away from the still celebrating bar. He heads straight for them, Dean already reaching his hand out to shake Sonny’s in thanks, first and foremost. 

Sonny taught Dean the gift of the curveball, now the nastiest pitch Dean has in his rotation, one he’s spent hours working on and one he now throws without overthinking. Cas knows exactly when Dean needs to throw the pitch too, knows who will swing for it and miss, and batters only get lucky when they prove Cas wrong. He’s like a freakin’ composer when he plans Dean’s pitches, which is just another thing Sonny taught them. 

Dean’s only a little surprised when Sonny bypasses his hand and goes for a hug, instead. He slaps Dean's back a few times and Dean does the same, all his emotions crashing around inside him as he tries not to break down in front of his mentor. 

“I'm real proud of you, son,” is all Sonny mumbles before he’s letting Dean go to hug Cas next and tell him something similar, giving Dean a chance to dry the single tear that managed it's way down his face.

Sonny's still talking low to Cas, one of Cas's hands between both of Sonny's and the other hiding his face. Dean can tell by the way Cas's shoulders shake that he's crying, and as much as Dean wants to go to him, he waits. When Dean came home from Tennessee, their relationship had gotten stronger, and Cas had later told Dean that Sonny had helped him understand some things about himself, about baseball, hell, about life. Dean was a little jealous, at first, to miss those conversations, but he didn't know who he wanted to be more in the scenario; the person who gets to open up, or the one to hear all of Cas's secrets. 

Dean's hopes Cas will trust him with them all one day.

The afternoon turns into evening after that, Dean and Cas both fielding phone calls and doing interviews most of the time. It's non stop exhilaration, and Dean's practically swaying on his feet by the time his phone stops ringing. There aren't many people left in the bar either, and Dean's glad for the quietness. Even the TV's are muted, a replay of the draft still playing on every screen, both of their college player photos flashing on the screen occasionally. 

Sonny's still there, occupying a barstool and talking with Ellen. It was some meeting that made him late, and it seems like he's trying to make up for it now. Bobby's MIA, but that's normal. Jo, Sam and Donna are playing pool while Cas, Dean, and Gabe share a booth, a pitcher and a plate of nachos.

Dean's on information overload. He hopes Cas remembers some of the shit they got told today because Dean doubts he retained any of it. Maybe someone will send him an email. There’s just so much to process, and instead of trying to do that, Dean’s listening to Cas and Gabe bicker about moving in together instead. 

Gabriel is finishing up veterinary school in Ohio and he wants them all to rent a place in Kansas City. Cas is arguing that they may not even end up in KC for some time, if the team sends them to the minor leagues, which for the Royals are in Oklahoma, for some reason. 

They moved out of their shared dorm only a few weeks ago, and have been slumming in the bar’s spare room out back, a space previously occupied by Ellen’s weird nephew Ash, who, as far as Dean knows, is going to MIT. Or maybe he’s in jail, Dean can never keep it straight. Most Wanted List for sure. 

Dean doesn’t care where they live, as long as they’re together, which is why he’s sitting this discussion out. It doesn’t matter though, because Bobby shows up halfway through and asks for Dean to join him and Ellen. In private.

Swallowing thickly, he gives Cas a quick shake of his head, to let him know it’s fine and that he’ll be right back. He makes his way out of the booth to follow Bobby to the office Ellen keeps back in the depths of the kitchen. It’s a small room, nothing fancy, just big enough for a desk, a few chairs, and a couch against the wall which is where Ellen directs him to sit with an encouraging nod as he enters. When Bobby mentioned business to discuss earlier, Dean assumed it had to have something to do with his dad and he's been getting nervous about it all day.

Nevermind that his dad never showed up today. Not that Dean expected him to, but sometimes miracles happen. It's not every day your son gets drafted to the Major Leagues, but John hasn't darkened the bar’s doorway in months, so Dean wasn't too worried about it. 

He's still not sure what Ellen and Bobby might want, though. 

Ellen speaks first, as Bobby takes the chair next to her. “Do you know how proud of you we are?”

Heat flares in Dean cheeks and he looks down at his hands, happy but embarrassed. He didn’t need to get cornered for something Ellen's been telling him all day.

“Ellen,” Bobby warns, but she waves him off and goes on.

“I know we were gonna work up to it, but I can't help it. I'm damn proud of you, Dean. No need to get all flushed.”

That gets him to break and roll his eyes, only to find Ellen grinning wide at him. Pride in himself swells where it never used to be before, the very real love on Ellen's face filling some part of him that's been missing since he lost his mom. 

“Now, let me make you blush for one more minute before I let Bobby tell you something.” She leans forward to take his hand. “You are a son to me, Dean Winchester, just as much as if I had you myself, and after we lost your momma, I got the absolute honor of my life to be able to help raise you, and watch you grow into the man sitting across from me.” She squeezes his hand as a few tears fall from his eyes. Ellen looks over her shoulder at Bobby, but doesn't let go of Dean's hand, nodding for Bobby to go ahead.

“She speaks for both of us, I hope you know that. You, Sam, n’ Jo are more than I ever thought I’d have and while I can’t replace yer dad, son of a bitch that he is, I hope you know— I hope I’ve—” 

“Yeah, Bobby— yeah, you have.” Dean’s voice is rough with tears he’s fighting for both their sakes, but he wants Bobby to know he understands; that he's been the father Dean didn't know he had his entire life. 

Bobby gets it together as he pulls some papers out of a manilla folder he grabs from the desk, and Ellen smiles as she magics a pen out of her top knot. He passes them to Dean. “Sign at the bottom, by the little tab,” Bobby directs, and for a second Dean thinks these could be his baseball contracts, but that would be impossible.

Upon closer inspection, he sees the words _Lawrence Title & Trust _on top of the page, and a lot of small print underneath. Dean scrunches his nose at all that reading. “What the hell am I signing?”

“I'm glad you asked first,” Bobby says dryly. 

“Someone taught me to ask first, sign later,” he replies, just as dry.

It makes Bobby grin. “That there’s the pink slip to one nineteen-sixty-seven Chevy Impala, Kansas DMV titled in the name of Mister Dean Henry Winchester. Did you know they just let you update that right on the internet?”

Dean shakes his head. “I’m sorry, what? You did what?”

“Dean, hon, the Impala’s yours. Your Baby is actually your baby.” Ellen's speaking in gentle tones.

Dean still can’t process what they’re saying. How can the Impala be… his?

“How— what— I— someone say more words,” he exclaims in frustration, gesturing for the words to start.

“Me n’ Ellen are the executors of your mom’s estate, in case you forgot. And the Impala was always hers. Never belonged to John a day in his life. He refused to give it up before he had to and rather than fight him on it…” Bobby trails off as he tips his cap up some. “It was a moot point because we couldn't give you the damn car until you turned twenty-five.”

Ellen clears her throat and Bobby scowls. “I was gettin’ there, woman, don’t rush me,” he growls. “Or until you got signed up with a team, whichever came first.”

Dean sits back in complete shock.

Ellen gives him a solemn nod. “She put it in her will, honey. She wanted you to have her, but she knew your dad would need her while you boys grew up.” 

It's true, they spent most of the time between Dean's practices and games driving around in the Impala, until his dad bought the truck and made that their family car for practice. Better to haul equipment. Dean bets his dad is pissed as hell about this.

“Is she here? Does my Dad know?” Dean stands.” Is he coming here?” A million scenarios of awful confrontations run through Dean’s mind and as much as he wants this to be true, he needs to make sure Cas doesn’t have to see any of his dad’s crap. 

Bobby stops him with a raised hand. “It’s fine. Sit,” he advises. “She’s not here. You can see her in the morning. Your dad’s dropping her off first thing and Ellen’ll have Jo text you when the coast is clear.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been warnin’ him for weeks that today was comin’ and that you were gettin’ in and I finally had to have Rufus fax him a copy of your momma’s will and a notarized letter before he agreed.” Rufus is Bobby and Ellen’s lawyer friend, so Dean knows Bobby is serious. Ellen’s face has gotten stormy and Bobby gets back on track. “He knew I’d drive a flatbed down to his office myself to pick her up if I had to. Think he wanted to avoid that.” 

Dean still can’t believe it. The Impala is his? Because he got drafted? How far in advance was his mom thinking?

“Dean.” Ellen’s gentle voice pulls him from his spin. “There’s a letter.” 

It’s possible that Dean’s gonna throw up. Like nachos and whatever else, all over this little office. This suddenly smaller, not at all darkening around the edges room, that only seems to revolve around the light yellow envelope Ellen’s holding out to him. 

Dean takes it with a shaking hand, and instantly recognizes his mom’s messy handwriting, spelling out D-E-A-N. 

It takes him a few tries to get the letter out.

_My Dearest Dean,_

_If you’re reading this, it means I’m not handing you the keys to the Impala myself and for that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for both of us, that my crummy heart kept me away from this moment with you, celebrating your achievement as both our dreams come true._

_You did it honey, and I really don’t think it’s wrong for me to say I told you so! You used to laugh me off when we’d go to a Royals game and I’d tell you I’d be watching you pitch out there one day and now, you owe me a beer._

_Don’t think I forgot the bet we made._

_Don’t think I forgot how you mean the world to me, baseball or no baseball._

_Anyway, I bet you’re probably asking yourself, self, why didn’t my mom give me her most treasured possession when I graduated from college, the thing she begged me to do on her deathbed?_

_Great question and one that I am so happy to answer._

_Graduating from college was for you, Dean. It was never for me. I knew it was something you’d thrive at, and I knew it was an experience you needed, and I hope above all that you understand how important that is, one day._

_Whatever happens next for you, my sweet boy, I hope you dance. (Don’t make fun of it, it was a good song in its day) Take chances, and know that there are other things out there for you beyond baseball, that there may be people, things you might want to experience differently, and I want you to know that that’s okay. I love you, and I’ve always known that you’re different, and special, and perfect, and any person who you find worthy of love is the luckiest person in the world. Love will rip you to shreds Dean, but it will also heal you in the process and if you ever think it's a mistake, I promise you it’s one worth making._

_Give your faith a fighting chance, Dean, in whatever or whoever that may be. Love with all your heart, like I loved you from the moment I found out about you._

_I love you so much,_ _  
_ _Mom_

Dean’s abandoned all his pretenses of hiding his tears by the time he’s done reading his mom's words. He can't say anything for a long time as he reads them over and over, going through every line until he almost knows them by heart, his mom, right here with him. 

She knew. She knew he was gay, or bisexual or something not straight and she didn't care, she didn't give a damn, and if she were here, she'd know Cas and she'd love him too, and she'd know they were right together. 

He can't stop staring at the letter.

“Dean?” He can tell Ellen doesn’t want to interrupt _whatever_ he’s going through. “There's one more thing, sweetheart.”

Dean raises wet eyes towards his other mom, and has to clamp a hand over this mouth when he sees what she's holding, but not before one sob breaks free.

It’s a ring box. A navy blue velvet ring box.

“This was your mom’s. It's from her side of the family. Your dad never had much for this kind of thing and when he went to talk to your Grandpa Samuel about marrying her, your Grandma Deanna gave him that.” Ellen softens. “I remember after John proposed… Mary was so excited, so in love. Getting this ring meant everything to her, Dean. All she ever wanted was to be a mom and having you—having you made her dreams come true.” Pressing the ring box into his hand, Ellen sniffs. “She’d want you to give this to that boy out there, if that was something you were thinking about.”

Dean’s staring at the box clutched in his hand, but his head snaps up at that.

Ellen isn't supposed to— no one is supposed to— 

Looking between them, Dean realizes that it's no kind of secret at all, that he and Cas are together, that they might be more than just best friends; enough so that Dean might need a ring.

And they're both smiling. Approving.

Dean jumps to his feet, stuffing the ring box into a pocket of his jacket, his mom's letter going into the back pocket of his jeans. He's halfway out the door before he spins back.

Bobby's holding Ellen to him when Dean steps back in to join their hug. “Thank you both for _everything_ ,” he says, letting them hold him back for a second before he’s going, and they’re both letting him.

Dean needs to talk to Cas.

The bar is even quieter when Dean pushes through the swinging kitchen door, all the televisions off by now, the pool tables empty and only the largest booth occupied. Most of their friends and family have gone home by now, and only Cas, Donna, Jo and Sam remain, all of them falling silent when Dean enters the room. 

He’s glad he doesn’t have to explain anything when he reaches the booth, only to grab Cas by the hand and pull him to his feet, tipping his hat to the rest of them, a crappy apology of sorts for their hasty exit. Sam tries to protest and gets matching elbows from both women around him that cut off whatever he was about to say. 

Dean’s not sorry. He’s on a mission.

Cas only trips over his feet once while he tries to keep up with Dean pulling him towards the back door of the bar. There's only one place Dean wants them to go right now, and it's a short walk from where they are. Dean grew up here. He knows this neighborhood by heart and he appreciates Cas's trust as he leads them away from the bar and through the wooded and vague property lines. 

The Little League field where Dean played his first game of baseball sits in the darkness as Dean leads them to the park where it's located. He spent hours upon hours of his childhood here, and it was this field where Dean first dreamed big enough to imagine himself pitching from a mound in a Major League Baseball stadium. Dean felt like a stupid kid back then, but today proved all his doubts wrong, didn’t it? 

Dean’s grinning when he pulls Cas through the opening in the fence that borders left field, the field lit by the full moon sitting high in the sky above them. It’s their only company; the field and the park otherwise deserted during the late hour. 

“Dean, will you tell me what we’re doing now?” He can hear the smile in Cas’s voice and all Dean’s pent up energy and nerves and anxiety ease away, drowned out by the excitement of all the possibilities opening up for them. It escapes out of him in laughter that rings out against the high trees that surround the field. 

He pulls Cas around in a wide circle until they’re facing each other, matching smiles on their faces. It’s obvious Cas feels it too, whatever fucking magic that surrounds them, that turns the night electric and makes them feel the same. 

Instead of answering Cas, Dean can’t resist the way he shines in the moonlight. Cas’s hair is glowing blue and wild, and Dean sinks his hands into the moment they come together, and Dean can finally, _finally,_ kiss Cas the way he wants to, the way he’s wanted to all day, since he heard his name being said over the broadcast, since he heard Cas’s name too, all day longing and waiting for this very moment.

It’s better than Dean could have imagined. 

The way Cas kisses him makes Dean feel alive. Like, let the Royals offer him the biggest contract in the world, let him win the MVP, hell, let him throw a perfect game and none of that, not one thing on that list of amazing things could be as good as kissing Cas, right here under the stars. 

They lose track of time, of space, of everything outside of them, and nothing else matters until the night creeps back in, and they’re breathing together in the peace and quiet. 

Cas breaks their silence first. “Were you just trying to get me alone for this?” Dean can feel his smile. “Because we have an entire bedroom we can be in, if you wanted to take this any further.”

“Easy tiger,” Dean sighs, trying to ignore the urge to drag Cas down to the ground right here, Dean thinking that might push their luck a little. He kisses the tip of Cas’s nose to appease his pout. “Some crazy stuff just happened and I — we needed to talk.” 

Cas takes a step back, putting space between them but not taking his hands from Dean’s hips. He wrinkles his forehead in concern. “Is everything okay?” 

“More than,” Dean replies, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve his mom’s letter. 

Cas says nothing as Dean passes it to him and he opens the envelope with care. The moon is bright enough to read by, and Cas’s eyes widen as he reads the first line about the Impala. 

“My Dad’s dropping her off tomorrow morning.” Dean has no reason to hide any details. Cas is one hundred percent involved in this, if it concerns his dad visiting where they live. “Bobby doesn't expect trouble, and he'll give us the all clear.”

Cas's shoulders relax. He goes back to reading and Dean swears he's gonna burn a hole into the paper, he’s staring so hard at the words Dean’s mom wrote, so many years ago. “She knew you’d keep playing.”

“My mom always believed in me. She knew I would go, one day. She always knew.” 

Cas goes back to reading, totally engrossed, and he doesn't notice when Dean takes a few steps back. It doesn't even register when Cas glances up, amused. “You'll have to tell me about the bet.” He's back to reading before he sees Dean's grin.

“Can do,” Dean promises. It was a silly thing, a youthful gesture, Dean promising to buy his mom her usual hot dog and beer (her stadium staples every time they went to a game), if he made it to the Major Leagues. He'd always downplay her grand predictions, but it seems she was right all along.

Dean’s not thinking about that right now, though. Right now, he's trying not to tear up as Cas tears up, as he gets to the part about love, about taking chances and going all in, no matter what the cost. It's possible that Dean's heart is going to beat out of his chest as Cas finishes the letter, and with reverence, folds it and tucks it back into the envelope, all while Dean's been taking the other thing his mom passed on to him out of his pocket.

“Hey Cas? Catch.”

Dean doesn't wait for Cas to react before he’s tossing the velvet ring box towards the man he loves, who catches it with his lightning fast reflexes and a perplexed look on his face. Until his eyes adjust enough to process what he’s holding, and the realization grows on his face like the rising sun, and from where Dean’s ended up on one knee, it's an image that's gonna be burned in his brain forever.

With shaking hands, Cas opens the box, one going up to cover his mouth when he sees the simple gold band inside, inlaid with a row of small diamonds. The tears swimming in Cas's eyes spill over when he looks up and finds Dean, hopeful, and wanting to give him everything.

“My mom was right about a lot of things Cas, a lot more than anyone could have predicted, but when I read that letter, what stood out was what she said about love. It fuckin’ _hurts.”_ That makes Cas huff out a wet laugh, one that Dean matches because _goddamn_ , have they gone through it. “It’s like the last four years were some kinda test, you know? Bullshit kept coming up and it didn’t take me long to figure out it was you, Cas, that you were what I needed to get through it all.” Dean hates how his voice wobbles, but he can’t help the way Cas makes him feel raw, like a live nerve. “It’s always been you, Cas and I—I love you.” 

At those three words, Cas crumples to the ground in front of Dean, both of them on their knees in the dirt, a place they’ve been a thousand times before, but never compared to this. Not with everything hanging in the balance. 

“I love you so much it _hurts_ sometimes, but then there you are, always making it better.” Cas takes his hands now, the ring box between them, open and waiting to be emptied. “You’re always makin’ me better, Cas.” Close enough now that Dean can count the tears on Cas’s face, he leans in to touch their foreheads together before he says the next part in a whisper. “I love you with all my heart. Marry me?” 

Dean gets his answer, very enthusiastic _yes’s_ between sweet kisses pressed all over his face, Cas’s love and happiness confirming that Dean made the right choice, being as honest as he can be. Love is goddamn terrifying, but Cas—Cas makes Dean brave. 

Dean can’t stop smiling and Cas seems determined to kiss every inch of Dean’s face, coming to rest against his upturned lips. “I love you too, Dean, I love you— I love you.” He won’t stop saying it, and every time he does, it sounds brand new. 

Cas loves him, and they’re gonna get married. Dean doesn’t know when, hell he doesn’t even care when, but he knows for sure it’s gonna happen 

Dean’s never been more sure of anything in his life. 

It’s pretty comical when Dean takes the ring out of its box and it only makes it halfway up Cas’s ring finger before it stops, and won’t go any further. 

“We can have it resized,” Dean mumbles as he slips the gold band from his fiancé's (!!!) finger. “Think I’ve got a chain or somethin’, unless you don’t want to wear it like that.”

Cas’s hand’s cover Dean’s stilling his fumbling. “That sounds perfect, Dean. I won’t be able to wear it most of the time, anyway.” No rings on the field, more for their safety than anything else. Dean’s not worried. He’s been thinking about popping the question for a while now, so he’s worked out a lot of the stupid crap they’ll need to do, to go out and get secretly married right under everyone’s noses. 

Except now—everything’s changed. The ring fast forwarded his plan by a mile and the fact that they don’t have to _come out_ to his family, well a lot of Dean’s stress has suddenly disappeared. 

Damn, drafted, engaged, _and_ gifted his dream car? Dean has to pinch himself as Cas pulls him to his feet. Cas doesn’t notice because he seems to be the one on a mission now, and he leaves Dean to his disbelief as he laces their hands together so he can lead Dean out of the field and back towards home.

“Now where we goin’?” Dean knows the answer, but he wants Cas to say it. 

“Home. Where we can be naked.” 

Satisfied, Dean squeezes Cas’s hand and picks up the pace alongside him. Buzzing with the good butterflies, it’s like they float home, and before Dean knows it, Cas is unlocking the separate entrance to their room and yanking him inside, not bothering with the lights or anything else except getting Dean out of his clothes. 

There’s no hesitation between them anymore, both sure of the other's body almost as well as they know their own. The hours Dean has spent mapping Cas’s amazing curves are uncountable and he doesn’t hesitate to start the process all over again, any chance he gets.

And tonight, Dean’s not done taking chances. 

It’s a familiar comfort to peel Cas out of his soft black hoodie, his stupidly tight pants following as their clothes mix on the floor of their room. Cas is pulling him down onto the bed before Dean gets him the rest of the way naked, but Dean’s happy to indulge his gorgeous fiancé, who's very eager to kiss him.

Kissing Cas is just as good as it was the very first time, and shock goes through him when he realizes that was his last first kiss. Looking at him now, kiss swollen and completely his, Dean's so glad Cas gets to be his last everything else. 

Dean does his best to take Cas to pieces after that, to make him shiver and sweat, to hear Cas say his name on the end of a groan, and around the shaking orgasm Dean gives him. Dean follows Cas over the edge, headfirst and flying and trusting Cas to catch him, and bring him back to earth. 

He could fight the way Cas makes him feel, but Dean's tired and loving Cas has always come easiest to him. 

Almost as easy as baseball.

It's Dean's last good thought before he drifts off on an otherwise awesome day.

It’s too bad the morning seems to come quicker than normal. Dean’s nerves wake him first, the familiar anxiety he used to get when he knew he’d be seeing his dad rearing its ugly head and disturbing the warm and fleeting dream about Cas in a Zorro mask that he was having. It takes a few beats before his brain comes online, and the warmth turns out to be Cas, turning Dean into the little spoon. He likes it here, and rather than let his nerves get to him, he wiggles, just enough to get Cas to tighten his arms, and snuffle against the back of his neck. 

Soft lips follow, sleepy kisses and tiny nips of Cas’s teeth as he makes his way across Dean’s bare shoulders, his breath hot against Dean’s naked skin. Cas doesn’t stop until Dean’s breathless, and more than willing to roll over and take part in a lot more kissing, and mutual morning hand jobs. 

It’s perfect, and with a clarity that only comes after really good mutual orgasms, Dean realizes that this? This is also forever. 

Dean thinks Cas can feel it too, when Cas’s smile doesn’t leave his face all morning. It gets wider when Dean comes up behind him where he’s fixing them coffee in their little coffee pot, draping the ring, strung on a chain around his neck. He secures the clasp, kissing the side of Cas’s neck when he’s through and prompting Cas to turn around. 

The gold band looks beautiful against Cas’s bare chest, and Dean can’t help but lean in and place a kiss over where it lays. Cas sucks in a breath and threads one hand through Dean’s hair, holding him there while he presses a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. 

“M’glad you said yes,” Dean says into Cas’s chest, not caring if it makes him sound pathetic. He has no idea what he’d have done if Cas didn’t want the same thing. Dean doesn’t even want to think about it. 

“There was never any other answer, Dean. Just like there never has been and never will be anyone else for me but you.” 

Leave it up to Cas to make sure Dean never has to worry with just a few words. 

They take their coffee back to bed and drink it in their underwear, and it’s the best kind of morning. They don’t watch much television so they don’t have one, but Cas has a tablet and they take some time going over the draft results together, both of them happy to ignore what could be going on outside while they wait for the all clear from Jo. 

Instead of a text, it comes in the form of a knock at the door. Dean hops off the bed, throwing on a pair of discarded sweats before he answers it. Jo’s standing there with a huge grin on her face, holding up a shiny silver key that glints in the morning sunshine. 

The key to Dean’s car. _Awesome._

Peering around him, Jo’s grin somehow gets bigger when she spies Cas sitting in bed. Dean glances over his shoulder, only to see Cas smiling and waving back. 

Dean rolls his eyes. So much for their discretion. No one ever comes back here so their pushed together twin beds have so far been a secret, but that’s over with now. Everyone will know by lunchtime. 

“So. You guys are really serious, huh?” She goes to dig her phone out of her back pocket. “Sam owes me twenty bucks.” 

_Oh fuck, Sam._

“Wait.” Hang on. “You guys bet on us?” 

“He swears he would have been able to tell.” Jo tries to lean around Dean enough to snap a picture, frowning when he steps in front of her and uses his hand to block the camera. “Come on, let me get proof,” she complains.

“Joanna Beth.” 

It’s all Dean needs to say to make her roll _her_ eyes and put her phone away. 

“Is he pissed, Jo, that we didn’t tell him?” Dean knows he has to call his little brother, but getting a read on his mood from his best friend before he does can’t hurt. “We didn’t tell anyone, if that makes you guys feel better.” 

She shakes her head and snickers. “Nah, he knows he can’t say anything, considering he has his own secret girlfriend.” 

That little shit. “He does? What the hell? Someone we know?” 

“No, some chick he met in our Econ class. We all had a group project together and they’ve gone on a few dates, kinda went to Prom together.”

“What! I thought you guys went with a group.” Dean remembers because he and Cas were there taking pictures when the limo picked the two of them up. 

“Fine, they ended up together then,” she replies, bouncing her eyebrows aaaand Dean’s heard enough. 

“Okay, gross, I don’t wanna know. Forget I asked.” Dean will have to have a serious talk with Sam later, make sure he’s using condoms. He changes the subject because— it’s still gross. “Other than that, did the morning go okay?” Dean can’t outright ask if his dad was a total ass, but Jo knows what he means. 

She shrugs. “It was fine, boring really. Your dad just tossed Bobby the keys and left. Someone from the dealership drove him back, I think. They were both wearing suits.” 

“Sam wasn’t with him?”

“He stayed at Jess’s last night, far as I know.” Jo looks over her shoulder towards the bar. “Okay, I gotta go. Mom wanted me to remind you she’s making dinner tonight and to not be late.” She peeks around him again and waves before she’s grabbing Dean and giving him a tight hug. 

“Congrats, Dean, seriously. Happy for you guys.” A quick kiss to his cheek and then she’s gone, her approval something Dean never thought he’d like to hear.

Damn. 

Cas’s eyebrow is raised when Dean turns back to him. “Everyone knew, huh?”

Sighing, Dean flops back into their bed and rubs his eyes. “Apparently, we're not the masters of deception we assumed we were.” He holds up the Impala’s keys, anyway. “But I got my Baby, so who gives a rat's ass.” 

Cas chases him into the sheets, complaining that his car won’t be getting anymore attention, which Dean agrees is possible, but only long enough to tease Cas into pouting so he can kiss it away. 

“Today, we’re taking my girl out. Tomorrow, your girl gets an oil change… But you’re helping.” Usually Cas spends the hour objectifying Dean while he’s under the hood, but he wants to check Baby’s engine too, so Cas is gonna have to pull his weight. He spent most of the time Dean was away fixing her up, and Cas is super proud of his car, which means Dean is super proud of him… and absolutely turned on because he gets to marry a car guy who never knew he was a car guy until recently.

They’re in no rush to get out, and Dean only has one place he needs to stop and eventually, Dean’s behind the wheel of the Impala with Cas beside him. The windows are down and he’s navigated them out of town enough to open her up, and show off the purr of her engine. It’s incredible, knowing she’s his, knowing this was a gift from his mom. He can’t help but hope that if there is a Heaven, his mom’s watching over him today. 

They cruise around for hours with no plan in mind, Dean driving until he finds a roadside diner so they can have some pie before he plans to turn the car back towards home. They spend their meal discussing the wild possibilities of their future, Dean talking about the enormous house he wants them to have and Cas just wanting somewhere big enough to work on their cars. And a swimming pool. Dean counters with a lazy river instead and soon, they’ve dreamed up a cliff side mansion with an indoor pool for Cas and a full service garage for them both and it’s stupid and silly and it means everything to Dean, to have Cas beside him for all of this. 

They’re luckier than Dean would have ever been able to imagine. 

Dean’s more content than he can remember being, especially when his _fiancé_ takes his hand the moment they get back on the road. It makes Dean brave enough to point the Impala toward the one place they needed to stop today. Cas stays silent and only tightens his grip on Dean’s hand as they pass under the wooden sign reading _Stull Cemetery_.

Dean needs to introduce Cas to his mom. 

The only time Cas lets go of his hand is when he has to dig his wallet out of his pocket so he can buy a bouquet from the vendor who’s always parked by the main walking path, the one they need to take to get to Mary Winchester’s grave. 

The cemetery is empty, and they walk hand in hand through the grounds, Dean knowing the way by heart. Every December, they visit his mom’s grave on her birthday as a family and the day is full of sorrow, and their dad’s bitterness, and the only thing that saves it is the dinner Ellen holds in her honor. That’s when Dean really feels like they celebrate his mom. 

Cas hasn’t missed one of those since they’ve been together and Dean talks about her sometimes, so it’s not like he doesn’t know Mary, but this is different to Dean. 

Dusk is settling in, and when Dean glances at Cas, he can’t help but notice how handsome Cas is in the golden summer light. He went without a hat today and his hair is wild from blowing in the wind while they drove around with the windows open and Dean always thought the concept of losing your breath when you look at someone was a dumb RomCom thing but nope, it’s totally real. 

Cas takes Dean’s breath away at the same time he’s everything Dean needs to breathe and he’s happy to come see his mom, and tell her she was right. 

Mary Winchester’s last resting place is marked by a granite headstone with her years of life etched into it, along with the words Daughter, Wife and Mother below them. Bright yellow sunflowers sit in a mason jar at the base, Ellen’s touch all over the beautiful bouquet. 

Dean makes a mental note to ask Ellen to bring him, next time she comes. 

Cas tries to pull his hand free as they approach his mom’s grave, but Dean won’t let him. Holding tight, he pulls Cas right to his side as he steps up to the front of her headstone. 

“Hi, Mom,” Dean starts, the threat of tears in the back of his throat. “I brought someone with me I want you to meet.” Glancing at Cas, Dean sees tears already shining in his bright blue eyes and one spills over when they exchange soft smiles. “This is Castiel, and he’s my— Cas is my—” Dean struggles with the perfect way to describe the man that means everything to him and he settles with what his mom wanted for him the most. “This is the man that I love with all my heart. And he’s agreed to marry me.” 

Tears sliding down his cheeks, Cas leans in to leave the bouquet of light pink carnations he bought against her headstone. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” Cas’s voice wobbles. “I want you to know you were right. I _am_ the luckiest man alive, because your son loves me. And I love him back, very much.” His voice has dropped to a whisper and by the time he steps back to Dean’s side, they’re both crying. Cas leans into Dean’s side. “Talk to her, tell her the rest of your good news.” 

Cas moves to give him privacy and Dean stops him without even thinking about it. “It’s our good news. Stay?” 

“Of course, Dean,” he answers, taking Dean’s hand again as he stands beside him. Cas stays silent while Dean tells his mom everything, about the draft, about Cas and how they met and how it’s changed him, Cas only sniffling occasionally, or huffing out small laughs that keep Dean going. He thanks her; for the car, for the ring, and for the ability to be himself and know it’s okay, knowing she’d still love him no matter what. 

It’s the most honest he’s ever been visiting his mom’s grave. He’d never be able to say half this stuff with his dad around, and maybe that’s always been the problem. 

Sighing, Dean kisses the tips of his fingers and presses them to the top of his mom’s headstone, whispering his love and a goodbye, and a promise to come back sooner than usual. Cas gives a way too cute wave and despite the sad circumstances, they’re both smiling softly as they walk back to the car. All of this feels so _right_ to Dean, like all the crazy pieces of the puzzle are coming together and tonight, he’s gonna have dinner with his family and _not_ have to hide anything from anyone. 

It’s fucking freeing. 

Too busy thinking about what flavor of pie Ellen might make tonight is enough to confuse the hell out of Dean when Cas stops dead in his tracks, a pained noise leaving his mouth. 

“What the hell…” The words die in his mouth as Dean turns towards where Cas is staring straight ahead, terrified. 

John Winchester is waiting for them, leaning against the hood of the Impala. His arms are crossed over his chest and his face is grim, and it only hardens more when he glances down at Dean and Cas’s joined hands. 

The last few years conditioning, and a ton of fucking repression urges Dean to let go, to get his hand back and pretend there was nothing to see but an even stronger urge makes him tighten his grip, instead. 

Cas sucks in a breath next to him. 

“What are you doing here?” Dean thinks it's a minor miracle when his voice doesn’t shake, especially with the way John’s eyes narrow. 

“I could ask the same thing. I come see my wife, after my entire family abandons me, and who do I see…” His disgust is horrible, and heartbreaking. 

Clarity hits Dean like a ton of bricks. They don’t need to be afraid of the man posturing in front of them. Not him, not Cas, none of them. The harder Dean looks, the clearer he sees his dad for the first time in a long time. 

John Winchester is a shell of the man he once was. It’s obvious he’s come from work, the cheap suit he’s wearing hanging on his body, his beard and hair mussed, his eyes tired and red rimmed. His hatred is so obvious, he wears it better than the suit, but for the first time, Dean considers that maybe the only person his dad hates is himself. 

And he will always see himself as the victim.

For a second, Dean puts himself in his dad’s shoes, imagining what he might do if he lost his perfect life, his perfect family. Except… things were far from perfect in their house. Dean’s old enough to remember all the nights his parents fought, all the times his dad didn’t come home, and even some of the times Mary didn’t let him and Dean’s not too stupid to know that it was his dad’s pride that made him lie after she was gone. He lied so good about their perfect marriage he fell for it himself, and convinced himself that he had lost everything, even though he barely had it in the end. 

Tearing his eyes away from the miserable man in front of him, Dean finds Cas’s eyes already on him, and in them, Dean finds the comfort he seeks, the strength he needs, hell, he finds everything in Cas’s denim blue eyes, and it confirms what he already knows—Cas is forever, _they_ are forever and he’s not ashamed of that. And he’s not gonna let his dad give them shit about it, just because he hates himself.

When Dean turns back towards the car, John’s stepped towards them and he’s _seething._ It's been almost a year since they’ve spoken and yet, his dad doesn't hesitate to start in on Dean like no time has passed at all. 

“How dare you, Dean, how dare you come flaunt your lifestyle here, of all places?” Right for the jugular, a patented John Winchester move.

It still doesn't make Dean let go of Cas's hand. 

“You should be ashamed, it's not appropriate and your mother—” 

“My mom loved me,” Dean cuts in, not wanting to listen to any more of his dad's rhetoric, not today. “Did you know she always knew? About me?” He holds up his and Cas’s joined hands. “About me not being straight? She didn't care, Dad!” Ignoring his dad’s flinch, Dean doesn't keep his tone from rising. “She _told_ me so, she wrote me a letter. She—” Dean struggles against a wave of sorrow. “Mom loved me no matter what, Dad, and if she would hate the way anyone was acting, it would be you.” He looks to Cas again, finding a steady gaze for him to cling to. “She told me to love with all my heart and—I am.” A single tear hits his cheek and Dean doesn't flinch away in the slightest when Cas comes up to wick it away with the back of his knuckle. 

They turn back to John together. 

He’s pissed but Dean knows the moment his dad sees the ring which has made its way out of Cas’s shirt. Cas knows it too, his hand going up to wrap around the tiny piece of gold, as if John might try to snatch it away. 

John's entire face transforms, taking on an angry, flushed tint. His tone is like ice. “Where did you get that?”

“Mom gave it to me.” Dean feels the strongest when he says the next words. “And I gave it to Cas and I’m real sorry, but there isn’t anything you can do about it.” 

John’s face twists in contempt. “That’s a family ring, Dean, it’s not a toy, it’s not meant for—”

“Cas. Is. Family.” Dean interrupts and stresses each word, meaning this more than anything. “He’s my family, he’s Sam’s, hell, Ellen and Bobby put him to work like he’s one of us too, and you know what Dad? No one is wondering where you are.” The words are pouring out now. “You say we abandoned you but where the hell were you yesterday? You know what happened, you know we were both drafted and still.” The look on John’s face tells Dean he isn’t missing the mark. “First round, Dad! And you don’t even care. You feel so damn sorry for yourself, you can’t see past any of your own hatred. That’s obvious now.” 

Layers upon layers of his own self-loathing and insecurities want to consume Dean, and he knows he only has the man in front of him to blame. It’s crystal clear that no matter what he says or does, nothing is going to change his dad or his opinion of his son. 

Dean’s never been enough, and not even being a first round draft pick could make his dad proud, if it means he’s also gay. 

The weight Dean’s been carrying his entire life lifts when he glances at his fiancé and finds the only salvation he’ll ever need.

Realizing that, Dean decides it’s time for them to go. John’s still as angry as they found him and Dean’s wary but he’s more scared that Ellen will have his ass when they’re late to dinner if they don’t get on the road. It’s possible this is the confrontation that Dean’s been expecting, but does his dad honestly think he could take Dean in a fight? Especially with Cas here? 

The days of his dad putting Dean in the dirt are long fucking gone. He’s a different man now, and it's time for him to say his piece. 

“I want you to leave me alone, Dad. Just— just stay away. If you wanna blame me, blame me. If you wanna hate me forever, do it, just know…” Dean trails off, out of steam and all his fucks. “Just know that it’s not your approval I need, and I know that now.” Acting like their hands are glued together, Dean shields Cas with his body as they take a wide berth around his dad. Dean just wants to get to his car so they can get inside and _go_. John does nothing except watch them, contempt still in his eyes. 

Dean passes Cas the keys and keeps using himself to block Cas as he unlocks the Impala’s door. It sickens him when hatred flairs in his dad’s eyes at Cas being the one to get inside the car first. 

“Mom gave me her approval, and you and me? You and me are done. Sir.” It’s the last time Dean plans to ever speak to his dad again, let alone give him the title he’s demanded his entire life. 

John stays cold and silent while Dean follows Cas inside and starts the car. He doesn’t flinch at the roar of her engine nor when Dean throws her into reverse, making sure he’s clear of the man he thought he once knew before he guns it, and gets them the hell out of there. 

He doesn’t let his foot off the gas until he’s sure that John hasn’t followed and even then, he puts ten more miles between them. Cas is like a live wire in the seat next to him, energy pulsing off him in waves, the urge to open his mouth killing him, Dean doesn’t doubt. The road back to Lawrence is lined with cornfields and finding a wide part of the shoulder, Dean pulls over, stopping the car and letting out the breath he’s been holding as he turns off the engine. 

“Wow… Dean— you— he—” Cas is _struggling,_ but all Dean can do is nod. Adrenaline he wasn’t expecting floods through him, and he feels like Cas sounds. The only thing Dean can think to do is reach across the bench seat and yank Cas to him, Cas’s arms going around him just as fast as Dean’s, both of them needing to hold the other more than anything in that moment. 

It doesn’t take long for that hug to turn into frantic kissing, kissing that could easily get out of control, the way they’re both indulging in the desperation of the moment, of the reality of what just happened. Dean knows they need to pull it together, and he regretfully tears his lips away from Cas’s, Cas still chasing his mouth even as Dean presses their foreheads together. 

“I love you, he can’t hurt us, I won’t let him hurt us, I’m sorry, I love you, I love you.” Dean can’t stop, his emotions raw and his priorities snapped into place. They’re done with this holding pattern, they’ve graduated, they’re real life Major League Baseball players goddamn it, and right now they have the world at their feet. 

No fucking way Dean’s gonna let his Dad ruin that. 

“You believe me, right? You’re the love of my freakin’ life Cas, and I’ll spend the rest of it proving it to you.” Dean presses a soft kiss to Cas’s trembling lips, his heart pounding. “Our dreams are coming true, Cas. I’m not gonna let anyone fuck that up.” 

Cas chokes back a half sob as he smiles. “All my dreams came true when you gave me this ring, Dean.” He grabs Dean’s hand so they can both hold the chain with the gold band between them. “If anyone ever asked me what about all of the last two days has been real, I know exactly what I’d tell them.” Raising their joined hands, Cas presses a kiss to the back of Dean’s, his eyes shining. “We are, Dean. We’re real.” 

It’s all Cas has to say, all Dean needs to destroy any lingering fears Dean might have about losing him, or fucking this up and they spend so long wrapped up in each other that they deserve the dressing down Ellen gives them for arriving halfway through dinner. 

They take the seats left open for them, and no one bats an eye when their joined hands hit the table and Dean couldn’t ask for a better start to their forever.


	9. Chapter 9

_ Bottom of the sixth inning…  _

The whispers have begun. Cas heard the first murmurings on his way back from the water cooler, the bottles cooling his hands after he refilled a few for both him and Dean. His first instinct is to ignore the murmurs, but it’s hard when their teammates’ eyes follow him as he moves back to where Dean sits, already going over their notes. 

Dean has completed six innings without giving up a hit. Cas isn’t too foolish to throw around the “P word” but if the mumblings are going to be accurate, they would in fact reflect perfection. 

Cas has no plans to say anything because if there’s one big unspoken rule in baseball, it’s that you don’t jinx the no hitter by calling attention to the no hitter. 

You especially don’t point it out to the man pitching it. 

Erring on the side of caution, Cas makes sure Dean’s distracted when he glances around the dugout with narrowed eyes, the many pairs looking at them darting away when they notice Cas’s expression, a clear message of  _ Do Not Disturb _ written all over his face. There’s no way Cas is gonna let anyone in that dugout (or outside of it,  _ Sam) _ distract Dean now. 

Unfortunately, he can’t keep watch because once their team’s at bats start, Cas has to hit. He’ll be the second batter up with Dean following, and he doesn’t stand to get his bat until he presses his knee to Dean’s, getting Dean’s attention right away. 

“Everything for the next inning look okay still?” Cas knows where he wants to adjust a few things, but only if Dean needs them. 

Dean shrugs. “It’s fine.” He’s trying to keep his expression neutral, but he’s not fooling Cas. They’ve been doing this too long. Dean uses Cas’s at bat to his advantage to avoid any further questions, gesturing towards the rack of baseball bats. “Try for a hit this time.” 

It’s a weak joke, but Cas rolls his eyes anyway. He can only do so much for Dean’s nerves that are lingering, so he takes care of what he can before he steps out onto the field to wait for his turn at the plate. 

The windup to the guitar riff in Stairway to Heaven plays after the stadium announcer says Cas’s name, making it echo around the stadium as the song starts and the crowd cheers in response. A different kind of exhilaration goes through Cas every time he steps up to the plate, his nerves real and his excitement palpable, that youthful pride that goes through him, knowing how far he’s come. 

The third song on his mixtape (Cas’s second most prized possession) is his current at bat song, one that rotates between the thirteen. His fans know they’re gonna hear Zeppelin when Cas comes up to bat, and it boosts his confidence to hear them singing the few lines that play before the music stops and the pitches start. 

All he can think about is getting on base for Dean and avoiding being the second out. Dean will come up after him and if they try, maybe they can at least not end up in a double play scenario. Unfortunately, even with all of Cas’s good intentions and the contact he makes, the ball he hits makes it as far as the outfield fence before it’s caught, and Cas has to jog back into the dugout after running almost all the way to second base.

Halfway there, Dean’s at bat music starts. 

The fans are expecting the end of Free Bird, but there’s a huge reaction when instead of Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Jonas Brothers blare from the speakers. 

_ “I’m a sucker for you, say the word and I’ll go anywhere blindly. I’m a sucker for you, any road you take you know that you’ll find me.”  _

Cas steals a glance at his husband, glad when he finds him bent over in laughter, halfway to the batter’s box. Feeling the need to snap Dean out of the mental spiral he was no doubt in, Cas asked a favor of the bat boy to call up to the announcers box and ask them to switch around Dean’s song. They have an old friend up there in charge of the stadium graphics and sound system, and Garth is happy to help them whenever they ask. 

He chose this song because he caught Dean singing and dancing to it in his underwear less than a week ago. Once Dean realized he had an audience, he turned his performance up a notch, singing the song  _ to _ Cas, and putting on quite a show, one that had Cas bending him over the edge of the couch so he could thank him properly. 

They have quite a way of showing their affection.

Dean gives Cas quite a look before he goes back into the dugout, and Cas is pleased to see the amusement in his emerald eyes, Cas sure Dean is remembering that day as well. His husband looks ridiculously adorable in his bright blue batting helmet, the color making his eyes shine brighter than usual and it’s too bad Cas doesn’t get to stare at him in it for very long, because Dean strikes out before Cas can sit down again.

Grabbing their gloves, Cas braces himself that Dean’s lightheartedness might be short lived after that at bat. He steadfastly ignores Sam, who’s on his feet now and Cas can only hope Dean’s doing the same. 

When he reaches the pitcher’s mound and passes Dean his glove, Cas doesn’t hesitate to study his face, a face Cas knows by heart. “You’re at seventy-eight pitches. If you didn’t feel good, we wouldn’t be out here.” Cas knows that now is not the time to ask Dean if he’s okay. Dean works better with facts, with assurance that he’s got control. “I might change up the order on the next two batters, but you’ll tell me if I’m going in the wrong direction. Did he—” 

“Asked during your at bat,” Dean answers, just as easy. Cas had a feeling their manager would ask Dean if he wanted to keep going, a standard ask before the seventh inning, even with the possibilities lingering in the air. The whispers have spread to the stadium, the shift in the crowd’s attention as they stand there talking much more palpable than before. There’s no question about their focus this late in the game. 

Dean adjusts the brim of his hat, his attention straying to the visiting team’s dugout. “I can do nine more, right?” 

“Dean.” It’s all Cas has to say to have his husband’s complete attention. “You can do nine more outs in your fucking  _ sleep.” _ Slapping a ball into Dean’s glove, Cas fixes Dean with one more steady, everlasting look. “Now kick it in the ass, sweetheart.”

Cas doesn’t give a fuck if anyone reads his lips this time as he turns to go back to home plate.

Neither of them says the P Word. 

It would be too easy for Cas’s little pep talk to fix everything. It appears to hold out as Dean strikes out the first batter with no issue. He takes an extra lap around the pitcher’s mound before he’s ready again, but it’s the seventh inning and the Yankees’ best hitter is coming up to bat, because nothing in baseball is ever that simple. 

Victor Henriksen was traded from the Cubs to the Yankees two years ago and has been one of their hottest hitters this year and last. He was drafted the same year as they were. and Dean played with him, so they keep a close eye on his career. Some players just stand out, and Henriksen is one of them. 

If there’s any one player for Cas to be nervous about, it’s this guy. His last two at bats have put Dean to work, even if Dean’s been the one to prevail each time. Cas still expects that to hold.

The crowd is invested in this at bat, in every pitch Dean throws, and every one Victor fouls off. Only the first two foul balls count as strikes, and Victor makes Dean work for it when he finally earns the out, Victor’s hit being caught in right field.

Dean’s at eighty-five pitches. 

Cas doesn’t have to look to know that their manager is coming out of the dugout before the next batter comes up to the plate. The crowd’s reaction tells him everything, boo’s raining down on the field as the fans protest. 

If the manager is coming out, it’s usually to pull the starting pitcher. 

Cas takes off for the mound where Dean is already shaking his head in protest, already explaining himself before anyone can get a word in. “I’m fine. Victor just knows my shit.” Dean wants to keep himself out there. “I can get this next guy out, no problem, right Cas?” Dean’s talking fast, but he has to because they’re on the clock out here. 

Imploring eyes turn to Cas for his thoughts. Cas covers his mouth with his glove. “He’s only at eighty-five pitches, Sonny. You of all people should know that’s not very high for Dean.”

Their former coach now turned Big League manager turns right back to the man he himself taught to play like this. Hired by the team a few years after they graduated, the Royals brought Sonny in when their pitching coach retired, after they got the suggestion from their best scout. This is his first year as team manager, and even though it’s early in the season, the team’s had a winning record for most of it.

Having their mentor back has made Cas and Dean that much sharper, and the three of them are usually good at communicating; meaning Sonny trusts them and their judgement calls ninety-nine percent of the time. 

Cas hopes this is one of them.

Taking a moment to study Dean and his pleading eyes, Sonny volleys right back to Cas. “Can he keep going?” 

Dean’s jade eyes get turned on Cas, and he knows his answer already, an answer Sonny reads off his face just as easily.

“This is Dean’s arm we’re talking about,” he reminds them lightly. “Just so you know why I’m out here.”

Sure it is. It doesn’t need to be said, they all know what’s on the line. 

Cas glances over Sonny’s shoulder and notes that all the other pitchers in the bullpen are still in their seats, which means if Sonny was really worried about Dean overthrowing and hurting his arm, he’d have a reliever already warming up out there. 

Sonny levels them with a look that tells them not to show off, but he says nothing before he turns to go back to the dugout. Alone.

The fans show their appreciation for his decision to leave Dean in the game by cheering as loud as they do when the team scores a run. Dean shows his thanks by getting the next out on only three pitches. The ball gets popped up to center field, but it doesn’t matter, an out is an out. 

Seven innings completed. Twenty-one outs earned. 

Six more to go.

Cas tries not to think about it as they leave the field, the crowd really starting to encourage Dean now, their cheers directed at him. As a distraction, Cas lets his eyes stray over to their family seats again to see how they’re fairing and Cas sees the rest of the seats filled. Bobby and Ellen sit next to Sam and Jess, Bobby and Sam with their heads together going over the score book while the ladies chat. Behind them are Jo and Donna, the two of them smiling at each other as they get to their feet when the music changes, the rest of the rows following.

It’s time for the seventh inning stretch. 

It’s tradition to sing the fun song anytime they’re at a game, and it’s a very serious matter in their family. Cas and Dean are expected to sing if they aren’t playing, but Cas mumbles the words under his breath anyway as he follows Dean into the dugout, his family’s exuberance relaxing him enough to place one calming hand on Dean’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze as they take the stairs into the dugout. 

It’s all he can offer his husband right now. 

Anytime Dean struggles, Cas wonders if it would make a difference if he could take his hand while they sit side by side, instead of the brief touches and glances they take enough chances with. Everyone chalks it up to their relationship as teammates and they let them, but would Dean settle faster, if their fingers could stay laced together in the interim?

Cas wishes for a day he might be able to test his theory. 

For now, he watches Dean as he steals a glance towards their family box, and Cas can’t be upset about the risk of Sam’s concern when the corners of Dean’s mouth turn up as he watches their family enjoy themselves. Cas can’t look away, staring at Dean’s lips as he mouths along to the end of the song and as alluring as he is, Cas is even more pleased when the rigidness in Dean’s shoulders dissipates. Family means everything to them and having them here to witness what Dean is doing makes it that much more special. To both of them.

After the seventh inning stretch ends, Dean wastes no time focusing back on their notes. It’s obvious he wants to finish this, and Cas is ready to see him through. There’s no changing Dean’s mind when he’s determined, and if there was any sign he  _ couldn’t  _ do it, Cas would be the first person to tell him. After everything they’ve been through, their trust in each other is unbreakable. 

Dean isn’t paying attention when Sonny looks back at them from his spot at the dugout railing, and all Cas has to do is give him a simple nod in order for him to know that for this? Tonight? They’re all in. 

They’ve still got work to do. 


	10. Chapter 10

There was a time in Dean’s life when he disliked mornings. Waking up early has always been a huge pain in his ass, something forced and unpleasant, at least until he had run a few miles, or gotten some coffee in his bloodstream. Dean’s long been inclined to hate them with a passion. 

Until he met Cas. 

Cas, his awesome, kick-ass fiancé. 

Cas, who loves morning sex. 

Dean’s pretty sure Cas loves him more than anything, but if pressed, he might have to admit that he comes a close second to morning sex. Cas is enthusiastic about waking Dean up with his hand or, even better, his mouth somewhere it shouldn’t be. 

Take this morning, for example. It’s hardly even light out, the first rays of Arizona sunshine just starting to fill the master bedroom of their condo, still blue and only gold around the edges. When Dean blinks his eyes open, he’s met with the damn good sight of Cas between his legs, both of them naked and bathed in the morning glow, their white sheets pulled away by Cas kissing his way down Dean’s body. 

It’s what brought Dean to life this morning, the warm, wet drag of Cas’s tongue across his chest, Cas’s familiar mouth sucking around Dean’s nipple before moving further and further south. Dean thought he was having the best dream ever at first, until Cas dragged his sweet lips down Dean’s shaft, forcing a real whimper from his mouth. 

Cas’s proud smirk against his hip makes Dean need to open his eyes, and he’s not disappointed even a little when he does. 

Now that Cas knows he has an attentive audience, he doesn’t hesitate. Licking his perfect pink lips, Cas wraps them around the head of Dean’s cock, sucking and tonguing at the slit, these little desperate noises coming from the back of his throat that drive Dean crazy. Without thinking, Dean threads a hand through Cas’s hair, unable to resist the way it glows blue in the low light. He also knows how much Cas loves it. 

Dean loves Cas’s dark floppy curls and how fuckin’ soft they are, almost distracting enough until Cas slides his hot mouth further south, swallowing Dean down deeper. He isn’t fucking around this morning, and they both moan when Dean’s cock brushes the back of Cas’s throat. Dean thinks he might come when Cas opens his eyes, and trains them on Dean, mouth still full. It’s enough for him to tug on Cas’s hair as a warning, Cas’s eyes darkening and only making him swallow a little deeper before pulling off, his tongue darting out to capture the string of saliva that keeps him connected to the head of Dean’s cock. It’s fucking sexy, and Dean groans in complete agony when Cas still doesn’t come back and kiss him, instead sucking his own lips clean while he does the opposite of what Dean wants by scooting off the bed but not breaking eye contact.

Dean swears Cas is trying to kill him dead. 

Nothing else could explain why he makes a show of holding Dean’s eye as he stretches the sleep from his perfect body, his sinful hips on display and showcasing the most perfect cock Dean’s ever seen in his life and goddamn, does he thank the gods every day that he got so blessed. Cas is walking sex.

And it does something primal to him, when he sees the ring he gave Cas, nestled in the fine smattering of his chest hair. “Come back,” Dean growls, wanting, wanting to touch and be touched by the man he loves.

Instead, Cas teases him with a smirk as he motions for Dean to sit up some, Dean obeying and struggling up into their mess of soft pillows that cover the head of their giant bed. It's their favorite piece of furniture. 

Draping his arms open, Dean settles and keeps his eyes trained on Cas, raising an eyebrow as Cas makes another show of climbing back on the bed, the strong muscles in his arms flexing, the devilish look back in his dark blue eyes that tells Dean he's about to have his world rocked.

Leaning in, Cas gets close enough for a quick kiss, one Dean tries to extend by wrapping an arm around Cas's back. Too bad his fiancé has other plans, because he wiggles free with one last nip to Dean’s lips before he's crawling over Dean's naked sprawled body, and much to Dean's delight and surprise, turning around to straddle Dean's hips in a delicious reverse cowboy pose that always leaves Dean wanting more. 

Dean can't wait to get his tongue in Cas, but he frowns when Cas skips the part where Dean gets to rim him, instead only teasing Dean by bending over him to wet his cock with that perfect mouth again. Always an opportunist, Dean doesn't hesitate to lean up so he can at least touch Cas, and he loves the way Cas whines when Dean’s hands slide over his firm ass, his thumbs already brushing his rim because Dean can't help himself. He gasps when he finds Cas already prepped, his thumb slipping inside with no resistance, a sight that makes Dean whine and slap playfully at Cas’s luscious thigh. “Greedy babe, lettin’ me sleep through the fun part.”

Cas responds by letting Dean pull him closer, his tongue ready to press inside him, Dean’s groans turning into filthy moans as Cas sucks him down at the same time Dean licks deep inside him, Cas sweet and open to him. They're both losing themselves in the other, Cas careful to keep Dean from coming but still stroking him, sometimes with feather-light touches that might be worse than blowing his load early. It helps to have Cas sitting on his face as a distraction, though.

Cas knows how Dean prefers to start his mornings, too. 

They're both covered in a fine sheen of sweat when Cas scoots away from him, much to Dean's disappointment. He was kinda hoping to make Cas come like this, but before he can coax Cas back to him, his gorgeous fiancé sits up and scoots down Dean's body until he's straddling Dean's hips and sinking down onto Dean’s aching cock.

Cas doesn't stop until he's fully seated and fucking gorgeous, a solid line of muscle and golden skin, and all Dean can do is slip his hands around those hips and hold on. Shuddering, Cas flexes his thick thighs, sliding himself up and almost off of Dean's cock before rolling his hips back down, a rhythm he perfects, until he's using it to torture Dean. 

The gorgeous laugh that tumbles from Cas’s mouth when Dean surges up into a sitting position and wraps Cas in his arms makes Dean soar, and he doesn’t hesitate to take control and fuck up into him, as deep as he can. He smirks and sucks at the back of Cas’s neck when that laughter turns into stuttering moans. 

“You’re so fuckin’ good for me, Cas, so goddamn beautiful.” Dean can’t help what he mumbles as he presses kiss after kiss to Cas’s shoulders and neck, as his hips rock while Cas rides him. He can’t help his hands either, when one finds Cas’s nipple to play with and the other wraps around Cas’s thick cock, wet and needing to be touched. Fuck, Dean loves this, loves feeling needed, _wanted_ by Cas, loves the trust Cas gives him to bring about all his pleasure, a job Dean takes completely serious. 

Something else he takes seriously? Kissing his fiancé. Kissing Cas is something Dean takes very seriously, so much so, he makes sure not to jostle him too much when he leans them both back into the pillows, his cock slipping even deeper inside as Cas stretches out and opens his legs wide as all his weight gets shifted onto Dean. 

The gorgeous noises Cas is making get that much louder with the change in position as Dean plants his feet so he can fuck up into Cas's pliant body easier. He has the best view in the house too— miles of golden skin and tight muscle stretched on top of him and Cas's perfect cock, bouncing against his belly. 

Dean could stare at this all fucking day, tied to Cas, and listening to the noises Dean’s fucking out of him. Fuck practice, fuck Cut Day, fuck all their responsibilities— the only thing that matters is Cas. Dean needs to taste him though, and he cups Cas’s face with his hand, Cas’s stubble rubbing rough against his palm as Dean guides their mouths together for a kiss that burns his lips, Cas’s moans beginning to border on desperate. Dean wants to give Cas everything, wants to make him feel incredible, and taking Cas’s cock in hand, Dean finds him hot and wet and fucking throbbing while Dean strokes with quick tugs, his thumb sweeping over Cas’s dripping tip every few jerks, just like he knows his fiancé loves. 

“Dean, m’gonna come.” Cas all but whines against Dean’s lips and it sends shivers through him to know he’s got Cas so wrecked. 

“Oh yeah?” Dean drags his lips across Cas’s stubble. He thrusts his hips and receives a dirty moan straight from the source. Speeding up his hand, he kisses Cas again. “Tell me, baby, fuck, let me hear you.”

“Dean, oh fuck, Dean,” Cas chants, lost in the motion of them, completely in Dean’s hands in every way possible. A few more strokes before Cas bucks against him, his entire body shuddering as strands of thick, white come paint his stomach in long streaks, Cas’s back arching and pushing Dean even deeper, his ass clenching around Dean’s cock like a vice while he falls apart, a high, sexy as hell whine coming from the back of his throat. If he wasn’t still clamped around Dean, he’d be coming too, and he’s amazed when Cas sits up and turns around, sinking back down on Dean’s cock with a sigh. His hair is a complete mess, real honest to goodness sex hair, and Dean can only press up into his perfect man, and hold out a hand for Cas to take. 

He does, and using it as leverage, presses their clasped hands into the pillow beside Dean’s head as his hips begin their sinful roll. Eyes darkening, Cas drags his free fingers through the mess on his stomach before bringing them up to Dean’s mouth, only to close the space between them so they can both have a taste. The salty sweet taste mixes with that spiciness that’s just _Cas_ and Dean groans as their tongues swipe around Cas’s long fingers, both of them wanting to taste the other. 

Cas rides Dean into oblivion, and he swears he comes so hard he can’t see straight, and it’s Cas’s sweet lips kissing along the curve of his neck that brings Dean back, that grounds him. Sneaking his arms around the man he loves, Dean doesn’t let Cas go until he has to and even then, Cas isn’t gone long, returning with a warm cloth to wipe him down with. 

Like the cuddler he is, Cas is soon back under the sheets and pressed along Dean’s side, his thigh slipping between Dean’s legs, his mouth already busy at Dean’s throat again. Dean weaves fingers through Cas’s hair, enough to tug him back for their eyes to meet. “There’s no need to be nervous.” Cas scrunches up his nose, which Dean kisses. “We’re not getting cut this year, I can feel it.” 

Letting his fiancé go, Dean says a silent prayer as his eyes go up to the ceiling, the sun now splashing bright against it, hoping he didn’t just lie to him and make a complete jackass of himself.

It’s the last week of Spring Training, and today’s the day they find out if they made the Big League roster or not. There are only forty spaces and there are fifty-five of them in camp. Considering most of the guys are returning players, there aren’t many spots open to begin with and even less for a pitcher _and_ a catcher in the same year. It’s half the reason they’ve been working their ass off the last three years in the minors. It’s tough, feeling like their prime is being wasted but Dean has a good feeling about this year. 

Cas is hitting better than he ever has, and Dean’s pitch count is as steady as it’s ever been, and he’s been monitoring who’s doing what up in the big leagues and he knows for a _fact_ that their current catcher, Benny Lafitte has been looking to switch to left field, the wear on his knees getting to be too much. He’s been mentoring Cas too, this spring, and Dean’s sure that can only mean good things for them, if Benny wants to make a move. He’s a veteran on the team, so if he thinks he found a replacement behind the plate in Cas, then all the better for them and their chances. 

Dean’s talked this to death with Cas many, _many_ times, last night over Mexican food and margaritas, in fact and instead of doing it again, Dean buries his nose in Cas’s wild hair and enjoys the way Cas continues to distract himself by kissing Dean all over. 

They should get phone calls before they have to report to the field, either ready to clean out their locker, or ready to attend their first official Major League team meeting. If they make it, at the end of the week they'll have some days off before they have to drive back to Kansas to report at Kauffman Stadium, ready for an inter-league game against the Cardinals.

Well, Dean wouldn't be pitching yet, but Cas could see some time behind the plate as soon as they arrive. It's too exciting to allow himself to think about.

Instead, Dean distracts them with pancakes for breakfast and another round in the shower, this time with Dean on his knees so Cas can hold him by the hair and have his way with Dean's mouth. Dean keeps his eyes trained above him, watching when Cas's mouth falls slack and the way his engagement ring glistens from the water when it bounces slightly thanks to Cas's enthusiastic thrusts.

Possession and above all else, gratefulness goes through him, knowing Cas is his, and knowing Cas feels the same way about Dean, too. 

It doesn't matter if their phones ring today or not, at the end of the day, they've still got each other.

That still doesn't make it suck any less when it gets time to leave, and neither of their cells has made a peep. Dean's made sure both are in working order far too many times, in between loading up the Impala with their bags (and a couple broken down boxes just in case). He's crossed into pissed off by the time they're slipping into the car, and he punches the garage door opener a little too hard when he goes to get them out of there.

Cas flinches. 

This isn't fair. They've worked so damn hard, but before Dean can launch into a rant about it, both their cell phones ring at the exact same time. 

They fucking did it.

The phone calls are short and sweet, welcoming them to the Royals and telling them both to expect to meet with the team travel coordinator after practice, both calls confirming that they want to continue to live together, wherever the team finds them to stay. They aren't _out_ by any means, a hard opposite, but baseball loves to save money by having players room together and they've stayed under the radar this way for the past few years. There's a spare bedroom full of stuff that will get packed up, their ruse changing locations right along with them. 

At the end of the week, they'll have five days off to get back home and Dean knows immediately what he wants to do with their time off.

He can't research anything until well after their excitement dies down, after phone calls are made and after they spend the afternoon with the team, Benny being the first to congratulate them and offer to take them out for a steak dinner. 

Dinner (and the most delicious steak and whiskey Dean’s ever had) turns into more drinks with different players at different bars, until they're helping each other into a taxi, thankful they only have one address to provide. 

The alcohol has ignited his blood, and Cas creates the spark that sets them both on fire, insistent as he strips Dean bare the moment the door locks behind them, and they don't even make it up the stairs before Dean’s pants are around his ankles and Cas's face is buried in his ass. Dean doesn’t even mind the rug burn that follows when Cas fucks him right there on the carpeted stairs. 

As far as days go, Dean’s putting this one in his top five, that steak helping it edge past the day they got engaged, which has held the number one spot for some time now. There’s another day that might be a contender for the top spot, but Dean doesn't get to bring it up until later.

Somehow, Cas gets them to bed and with glasses of water too and he doesn't settle until they're both naked and under their sheets, Cas tucked under Dean's arm, a perfect position for nuzzling. He loves being with Cas like this, so close, so wrapped up together even their breathing syncs up. 

It's safe, and it's theirs, and Dean only wants them to strengthen their already unbreakable bond when he interrupts Cas as he’s talking about tuning up the Impala before they go, a topic Dean can usually listen to Cas talk about for hours (it’s so hot).

“Hey, you know what I think?”

Cas props his chin on Dean's chest, glancing at him to show his equal parts annoyance at being interrupted and interest in what Dean thought was so important. “Go on.”

“I think we should use a few of those days and head over to Vegas.”

Cas furrows his brow. “Dean, that's hardly on our way even a little, a detour like that would delay us—”

“Hey hon,” Dean says, raising his voice just so Cas will focus on him versus the logistics of his request. “I think I wanna marry you.”

Cas stops talking so fast Dean can hear the crickets singing outside. 

He grins, and pushes the hair off Cas’s forehead, loving the way his blue eyes shine with surprise. “It’s only four hours North and you know Baby can make it there in three. All we need is an Elvis impersonator and a marriage license, and the county clerk's office opens at eight. If we wanted, we could go to bed tomorrow all married up.” 

Dean tries to play it casual, like these are just things he knows, options for Cas to choose from but even in his casualness, his heart is hammering in his chest with nerves that Cas might laugh his idea off. 

It’s not like they haven’t meant to tie the knot, but they’ve been fucking _busy._ In the off seasons, their training schedule is stupid and in the moments they’ve talked themselves into taking time off, they’ve always just jumped in one of their cars and hit the road, needing the R&R more than the hassle of planning a wedding. 

Dean’s wanted to marry Cas since he gave him his mom’s ring, but neither of them know the first thing about weddings, so putting it off has been the easiest way to handle the entire thing. 

Why not elope instead? Neither of them care much about a big wedding, and while it might suck not to have everyone there, they can throw a party when they get back to Kansas or something.

Cas still has disbelief all over his face. “You want to drive to Vegas… and get married? To me?”

Dean snorts and yanks at the chain Cas wears every single day. The wedding band slides closer to their chests. “Think this was just for show or somethin’? Yeah, you, dumbass.” He tightens his arm around Cas so he can pull him closer. “The dumbass you're in love with wants to be your husband.”

Cas kisses him hard. “Say that again,” he commands.

“What, that you're a dumbass?” Chuckling, Dean goes for another kiss but gets refused.

“Dean.”

“Okay, okay, don't get your panties in a bunch. What I meant to say is, I wanna be your husband, Cas. Want you to wife me up.”

Cas might roll his eyes, but he's kissing Dean again, stealing his breath and making Dean so glad Cas chose him to love. Not relenting until Dean is flushed and kiss swollen, Cas still takes his time to nip at Dean’s lips before pressing their foreheads together. 

“Are you sure? I thought you’d want our family there.” He kisses Dean again, soft this time. “Ellen might kill us, you know.” 

“I was actually worried about that shotgun Bobby pretends isn’t under the bar,” Dean mumbles. “But I don’t care, Cas, I just wanna marry you.” He does kinda, sorta care, but that doesn’t outweigh how badly he wants them to do this. Still… “Do you think we should wait then?” 

Cas’s forehead is scrunched up in concentration, and Dean’s pretty sure he didn’t hear the question. Brushing their noses together does the trick, and bright, focused blue eyes are on him. “What if they meet us there?”

“What? How?”

“Not everyone hates to fly, Dean. The flight is only a few hours from Kansas.” Cas glances at the digital clock beside their bed. “It’s too late to call, but we can always check the availability.” Before Dean can say anything, his goddamn beautiful, soon to be husband is climbing out of bed and dashing out of the room, only to come back, silver laptop in hand and already open and booting up. “If they can land by three, that should be plenty of time, don’t you think?” 

Dean’s in total awe of him. It’s well past midnight and here Cas is, on board, running around their condo naked so he can scout out last minute plane tickets to Las Vegas. So their family can be there to watch them get married. 

“I fucking love you so much,” he says, freezing Cas from the furious typing he’s doing. “You’re just—you’re incredible, _way_ too good to me, and I just—I love you.” 

A gleam in his eye, Cas casts aside the laptop so he can tackle Dean down into the sheets. Laughter bubbling out of him, Dean wraps his legs around his honey and accepts the kisses Cas covers his face and neck with, Dean running fingers through Cas’s curls and kissing back as much as he can. 

This is what he's gonna have forever. Dean's the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.

By the time they do go to sleep, Dean's credit card is smoking and they have plane tickets booked for the eleven-thirty flight direct to Las Vegas from Kansas City, enough for Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Sam and his girlfriend Jess.. Thankfully, it's the weekend, so all the college kids are off. 

There's two extra tickets; one for Gabe coming from Ohio that leaves a half hour later, and one from Chicago where Donna lives that leaves an hour earlier. She moved there a year after Dean and Cas were drafted, following some pretty, dark haired yoga instructor. After that ended, Donna stayed and became a cop. Dean already knows she has the weekend off and a plan to order too much Chinese takeout while binge watching Game of Thrones so he's sure she won't mind the change in plans.

An alarm is set to make early morning phone calls and their bags are already packed and waiting by the front door. Cas said he wouldn't be able to sleep without doing it so putting aside clothes to drive in, everything else gets packed away and they slip between their sheets, naked, exhausted, but really fucking excited. 

Dean doesn't think he sleeps at all. He laid still for hours, hovering between asleep and awake, his nerves a total shit show, a thousand scenarios running through his head keeping him just on that annoying side of consciousness. Even worse, Cas snoring away in his arms, not a care in the world. Well, good for him. He can drive in the morning. 

That puts a smile on Dean's face long enough for him to catch a few hours at least, both of them springing up when the alarm on Dean's phone starts blasting “Heat of the Moment” at four am. They want to call their brothers and get all the balls moving and thanks to the time difference, it's already six in Kansas. Sam's awake for sure, but Cas is in for a harder time waking Gabe up, so Dean does him a favor by getting up and fixing their coffee for them. He shoots Donna a text to call him ASAP and Sam answers after a few rings, clearly not expecting Dean's call so early.

“What happened? Are you okay? Is Cas—” 

“Whoa, whoa Sammy, easy, everything is good.” Dean takes a deep breath, but it's hard to hide the smile in his voice. “I'd be more sorry for calling this early, but I'm not.”

“Dean, will you tell me what's going on?” Sam’s exasperated now that Dean’s cleared up that there’s no emergency, which makes telling him even better.

“Me 'n Cas are gonna do it man, we're gonna tie the knot. In Vegas. Today. And we want you and Jess to be there.”

There's nothing but silence on the other end. “Sammy? Hello?” Dean checks to make sure their call is still connected and grins when it is. “Plane tickets are in your email, little brother.”

The only response Dean gets is a clattering sound and Sam cursing from far away. After he picks up his phone, Sam is over the moon excited and scrambling to figure out what he needs to do. He promises to get everyone else on the plane, too. Fucking thrilled, Dean leaves Sam to it so he can get his fiancé some coffee. 

Dean's phone is ringing by the time he gets back upstairs and Cas is up and halfway dressed, only a pair of jeans on but still barefoot and bare chested. Dean hands him a mug and ends up missing the call in favor of staring at Cas a little longer as he paces, but not before he accepts his coffee with a kiss of thanks. 

It's Donna that Dean ends up having to call back. 

She answers on the first ring. “Someone better be dying.”

“You know, you'd feel bad if someone were,” Dean accuses with a grin, knowing it's too early for his best friend but wanting to give her crabby ass shit, anyway.

“If that were the case, I’d expect a little more urgency in your message, unless you want that person to end up being you.” She yawns.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Listen Dee, it’s time to get up, brew some coffee, grab a Starbucks, I don't give a shit, I just need you to get dressed and get your ass to O'Hare because me and Cas are getting hitched tonight in Vegas and I kinda need my best friend by my side, capiche?”

Cas grins as he listens in, still trying to reach his own brother. Blue eyes light up when Gabriel answers and Cas hurries out of the room to talk to him, coffee in hand. 

Dean’s grinning and realizing that Donna is still quiet. “Yo! D-Train, I lose you too? Sam had the same damn reaction, is it that surprising?” He’s teasing, but Donna isn’t laughing.

“Dean… have you guys thought this through? I know you’re excited because of yesterday but—” 

“Hey, Donna, what the hell?” Dean interrupts, blindsided. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

“Don’t get mad! I’m trying to look out for you two! You’ve just been called up to the majors, you think fans don’t know who you are? Walking around all the time looking like supermodels, what happens when someone recognizes that it’s you two gettin’ hitched and posts that shit to Twitter?”

_Goddamn it._

Dean tries to interrupt her. “Donna, we—” 

“No, you need to listen. You'll be viral or whatever, and then what will the Royals say? They can still take back their offer, Dean. This is your dream you're messing with.”

“So you think baseball is more important to me than this? More important than _Cas_?”

“Did I say that? No, I said there are risks, risks that you might not have thought about.”

Dean snorts. Like Donna understands the risks they're taking. Like the threat of being caught doesn't loom over both their heads all day, every day. The thing is, they might be good at baseball, but they are masters at hiding their relationship. They have rules in place, rules that protect them both; things like no touching in public or no sexting. They also don't get to take nearly as many photos as Dean would like, for fear of fucking hacking, but they're careful and they don't use a cloud or whatever so they've been okay so far. 

They depend on people being used to them as a unit. Their work on the field proves they're close and they've never been quiet about coming up in school together and being best friends. People leave it at that. 

And as far as considering all this shit, Dean and Cas have talked this fucking topic to death. They’ve weighed the pros and cons of losing everything they’ve worked for, and at the end of every long discussion, they both agree that losing the other far outweighs losing anything else. 

Maybe they _need_ to do this to prove that to everyone. 

“Donna, look,” Dean’s gotta give it to her straight. “We’ve thought about everything, I promise. We’ve gone through every worst-case scenario there is and we still want to do this, okay?” Something that wasn’t there before catches in Dean’s throat when Cas breezes back in the room, a huge smile on his face and phone still to his ear, rolling his eyes at whatever Gabe is on about as he grabs their toiletry bag, gesturing that he’s taking it downstairs for Dean to use before they go. 

God, Dean loves him so much. 

“Please, Dee,” he pleads, “I appreciate you thinking of this stuff but we've got it covered, I promise.”

“Don't be mad at me, Dean. You know I'm just thinking of you.” Dean can't believe it when she sniffs. “Someone has to look out for you two knuckleheads.”

He softens. “You’ve had my back our entire lives, Donna. That's why I need you to get your sweet ass out of bed and into the shower. I need my best friend if I'm gonna get married today.”

“I already started packing, you jackass. How many nights are we staying?”

Dean laughs. “Me n' Cas have to get on the road tomorrow. Everyone else has open ended flights and rooms through the weekend, as a thanks from us for coming on such short notice." It was Cas's idea, the hot genius. “By the time you land, we'll be poolside and then dinner, followed by… _du-dun-duh-duh.”_ The wedding march makes Donna give Dean the excited whoop he's been waiting for. 

“Oh, we are going to drink so much, I better carbo load on the plane.” Dean can hear the shower start up on the other side of the phone. “Okay, I'm naked and I need to go now.”

He groans. “Dude! Hey, do me a favor?” Dean's done with Donna's TMI, but there is one more important thing. “Bring me some Garrett's?”

It's Donna’s turn to groan.

“Come on, we put you in the right terminal this time!”

“Are you kidding me, Dean?”

“Please Donna, a big bag of Chicago mix for the newlyweds, something for us to eat on the way home.”

“You don't let anyone eat in your car,” she snaps, laughing, so Dean knows he's won.

“Thank you best friend, love you and text me when you land.”

“My seat better be in first class, Winchester,” she replies before disconnecting their call. 

Dean's on cloud nine. Everyone is a go _and_ he's getting the best damn popcorn on the planet. Benefit of Donna living in Chicago.

Upgrading Donna's ticket to first class is the last thing they do before they hit the road.

The drive is easy and Dean was right, Baby makes it in three. Well, three and a half because Cas spent fifteen minutes at a rest stop taking pictures of rock formations when they stopped to hit the head. Dean took one picture of Cas taking his pictures and figures he got the best shot from their little prolonged rest stop. 

Cas is glowing. He always looks good riding in the car next to Dean, but damn, today? Today Cas is glowing and even with his (Dean's) old Jayhawks practice hat on, his curls still escape the sides and the back and dance in the breeze of the open window. Dean doesn't want to stop looking at him.

Too bad there's a road to watch, but as soon as they're hidden in the shadows of their hotel parking garage, Dean's unbuckling both their seat belts so he can pull Cas as he slides over to kiss him, his eager hand knocking Cas’s hat off so he can grab a handful of curls against the back of Cas's head. 

The heat wins out and when they pull apart, they’re both covered in a fine sheen of sweat, but they’re smiling. Dean grabs Cas’s hat and puts it on him backwards, trapping a few sweaty strands of hair against his forehead. His dorky fiancé. “We're really gonna do this, huh?”

“It feels like we've been waiting forever. I'm so ready to be your husband, Dean.” 

Kissing him again, Dean can't help but want to explode from loving Cas so much. It's honestly stupid how big his feelings are, which has to mean they're right. Nothing bad could ever be this good and feel like this. 

The hotel is blissfully air conditioned, and Dean leaves Cas by the slot machines so he can check them in. They drove down to Mardi gras one year and Cas fell in love with Riverboat Gambling, of all things. He’s already ordering a beer before Dean can even walk away.

Vegas is awesome. 

They left before the sun came up, so it’s not too surprising when their room isn’t ready, but the nice blonde at the desk upgrades them to a suite for the inconvenience. Cas has wandered over by the time Dean’s finished up and they leave their bags with the concierge before going right back to the car so they can head over to the clerk’s office for their marriage license. 

It doesn’t even seem real, but it is, and so is the license they pay a pretty penny to have filed as a confidential document, sealed so their names aren’t on the public record. He wasn't kidding when he told Donna they have their bases covered.

They run a couple more wedding day errands before the hotel is calling to tell them their room is ready, a room which they have no choice but to break in, which they do. Thoroughly. Seriously, like no surface is safe by the time they're done. 

They make it down to the pool cabana they reserved for the afternoon, somewhere to wait for their family, and they can't help but defile it too, after the attendant shows them how the privacy curtains enclose the entire space. It's fucking fancy, with a couch, a table, a mini fridge and a flat screen tv, not to mention the poolside access and personal attendant. 

They only plan to do this once, so they went all out. 

Dean ends up falling asleep while they wait, thanks to his head in Cas's lap and Cas's long fingers running through his hair. It's their last moments of peace, because not long after, their family arrives. 

The Kansas crew arrives first and finds Donna in the lobby while they are making their way to the pool. Only Sam, Jess, Ellen and Bobby make it out, Jo staying with Donna. It's been a few months since they've all been together, Christmas in Lawrence being the last time, and Dean's so fucking happy he and Cas are gonna be local again. They talked about where they might want to live when they buy a house and are already making plans to go check out some neighborhoods.

Everything is fucking happening for them, and Dean couldn't be more excited.

The champagne is flowing, all of them in celebration mode by the time Gabriel arrives, the last of their party. It’s obvious Gabe has been pre-gaming, but when Dean goes to pour him a glass of champagne to keep the party going, he finds them out. They’ve got enough time before their dinner reservation to throw back another bottle or two, and with half the crew taking advantage of the nice pool and weather, Dean decides to hit the poolside bar, not wanting to wait for their attendant. Cas is next to him on the couch, talking to Jess about her marketing classes, and Dean interrupts them to let Cas know he’ll be right back. Cas brushes their lips together and asks Dean to bring back some shots, too.

Happy to, Dean fixes his aviators on his face but forgoes a shirt, wanting to feel the sun on his shoulders while he walks around the pool. It’s warm, even in March, but Dean loves this warm weather, the sun and a smile on his face when he sees his family enjoying the pool, Jo and Donna having made it downstairs. Bobby and Ellen are catching up with them while Sam swims lazy laps in the empty pool and it’s goddamn near perfect, having all his family there with them. 

Thinking he might join Sam for a swim after they all have shots, Dean orders more bubbly and a tray of tequila shots and damn, the people here are friendly because the bartender offers to bring the tray over once she fills it and Dean's more than happy to walk away with a few bottles of champagne and not a tray of tequila to balance. 

He notices that Jess is swimming now too, and Dean's just about to push through the flap of their cabana when Cas's unhappy voice stops Dean in his tracks.

“For the last time Gabriel, so help me, I am telling you to drop it.”

“Don't get crazy with me little bro, I'm just saying you can still back out, no harm, no foul.”

_Well, ouch._

Dean has no fucking idea what he did to make Gabriel say this shit to Cas, here, _now,_ but everything inside him wants to put a stop to their conversation as quick as possible.

He doesn't move.

“Why won't you let this go?” Cas is getting impatient and Dean prays he doesn't start throwing punches. Cas can get super hot and wild like that sometimes.

Gabriel makes a frustrated huffing noise, and they're both quiet for a beat before Gabriel explodes in the quietest way possible. “He's a player, Cas! I just walked out there to grab a towel and he's flirting with the bartender, leaning over and doing that thing he does with his handsome face.”

What the fuck, Dean wasn't flirting, he was being polite!

“You're getting married today and he's flirting with the bartender and dammit Cas, you deserve better than that.” Gabriel's hissing like a pissed off tomcat and Dean’s holding his breath and hoping no one sees him eavesdropping, all the while talking himself out of barging in. It's a fucking baseless accusation, but a very small, very curious part of him wants to know how Cas is gonna react. 

Dean stays where he is.

“This is fucking stupid, Gabriel.” Oh shit, Cas is pissed. “Dean gets hit on everywhere we _go_. I watched him flirt his way to an upgraded suite just this morning.”

_Hey._

“I've grown used to it and take great pleasure in teasing him when it fails to get him what he wants.”

Okay, that's true, but Cas doesn't have to just say it out loud.

“I trust Dean intrinsically, Gabriel, and I am begging you, for the last time, to trust my judgement.” Cas's voice softens as his anger wears off. “I love him, Gabe, so much, and I wouldn't be tying my heart to his if none of that were true.”

Fucking Cas, making Dean go all soft around the edges. He doesn't need to burst in and defend himself, Cas has got this.

“Furthermore, if you continue to object, I'd ask that you not join us at dinner, or for the rest of the evening.”

“Aww come on Cassie,” Gabe protests, not having a leg to stand on.

“No Gabriel, I won't have you disparage my husband. He’s a good man, the best I know.” 

The way Cas says that with such certainty shakes Dean to his core. Cas tells him all the time in hundreds of ways how much he loves him, but hearing him talk like this, with such conviction is fucking humbling.

Dean can't ever fuck this up.

“Who are we eavesdropping on?”

Donna whispering in his ear scares the shit out of him and Dean almost drops the champagne in surprise, whirling on his best friend with _shut the fuck up_ eyes flaming.

Her eyes widen as she leans in to listen too, catching on quick.

On the other side of the curtain, Cas isn’t done. “So, what's it gonna be? Are you staying or going?”

“I just wanted to make sure,” Gabriel whines and Dean grins. Cas is gonna let the asshole off the hook, but he always does. Dean's gonna have to fuck with him though, for the man whore comments. 

“It's far too late to change my mind now, anyway. Tattoo removal is expensive.” Cas’s snark makes him straighten. 

Oh crap. Cas is spilling the beans. Donna nudges him in the back, and Dean winces.

So he and Cas may have gone and gotten matching tattoos this afternoon. It's not like they can wear wedding rings! 

Dean always griped about it, until Cas came up with getting something tattooed on their ring fingers, inside the hand to keep it as private as possible. They cover their left hands in gloves ninety percent of the time they'd need to hide it anyway. 

It didn’t take the tattoo artist long to ink two rows of red stitching and a few sets of initials, and aside from a small bandage, no one would notice what they’d done. They hadn’t decided how or when to tell everyone, but apparently that’s over with. Dean can’t be pissed about it though, not when Cas needed to be a little smartass to defend their honor. 

He grips the bottle with two fingers and holds his hand open and high enough for Donna to see he has a bandage. 

She’s kicking him when Dean decides he’s had enough. 

“Okay, we’re coming in now,” he announces, pushing inside the cabana to find Cas on the sofa and Gabriel grinning and holding an empty glass up. 

“Thought you’d never make it back, _brother-in-law.”_

At least he’s trying. 

Dean ignores him and rounds on his fiancé, who still appears pissed. Passing the bottles to Donna (who is also glaring), he drops to squat between Cas’s knees. “Hey, scowly, what do you like to tell me?” Dean ducks his head to catch Cas’s eyes, which are trained on the floor. Soulful blue eyes get caught up with green. “Shake it off, babe. Doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, remember? This is for us.” He takes Cas’s left hand with his and winds their fingers together. “This is all that matters, okay?”

Cas nods and then he’s kissing Dean, his free arm going around Dean’s shoulders to pull them closer, kissing him until Dean can’t see straight. Dean’s sunglasses are crooked when they pull apart, but Cas is smiling again, so it’s no big deal at all to straighten himself out after that. 

“You two dummies really get tattoos?” Donna’s never been one to mince words and Dean closes his eyes, hoping for patience. 

Cas laughs and pulls them both to standing. “We did, but now you have to wait to see them.”

“See what?” Sam sticking his head in the cabana interrupts the groans of irritation being thrown at them. 

There’s no hiding the tattoos after that, and they don’t make it much longer than a half hour once Sam runs off to tattle to Ellen, and then both of them are being forced to unwrap their bandages.

Ellen sucks in a breath and all the girls (plus Sam) make soft noises when they see D.W. inked on Cas’s finger and C.W. inked on Dean’s. Legally, Cas can’t change it, but he expressly stated that if he could, he’d take Dean’s last name without a second thought and Dean couldn’t argue. 

Cas is a Winchester.

Dean’s as sure of that as he is of anything. 

After the pool, everyone disperses to get dressed and _yes,_ they fool around in the shower and _yes,_ it makes them a little late but they’re the grooms, they can do whatever they want. Dean almost makes them even later after Cas steps out of the bathroom still fussing with his cuffs, and Dean gets a look at him in his suit. They didn’t want to dress too fancy, but Cas loves a skinny tie and he looks _good_ with one so Dean can appreciate it, and he loves that it’s his favorite blue one too. Matches Cas’s eyes. Dean’s jacket compliments it too, and so what if they’re kinda matching, they’re allowed on their wedding day. 

He has to kiss Cas after he shrugs on his black jacket because goddamn, his soon to be husband is hot, and Dean tells him so before he lets Cas go. 

“You’re real dangerous in this getup, you know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing Cas’s stubble. Dean runs Cas’s lapels between his fingers. “This tie.” He gives it a slight tug for good measure. 

Cas chuckles. “Why, because I usually end up blindfolding you with it at the end of the night?” 

Smirking, Dean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, actually.” 

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You love me.”

“I do.” 

They both grin at that. “Save it,” Dean says. “First? We eat. I need sustenance, babe.” 

Cas rolls his eyes but doesn’t let Dean go. “You look handsome as well, my love. The sun did a number on your freckles today.” Anticipation dances in his blue eyes. “So many new ones to count.” 

“Can I eat first?” Sticking his bottom lip out does the trick, and Cas dissolves into laughter. 

“Of course, Dean.” 

Their hotel has a Brazilian Steakhouse that also has a tequila bar and the room they rented for dinner is incredible, fancy as fuck, and one of the best dinners Dean’s ever eaten. Nothing beats an All-You-Can-Eat option. Plus, Cas loves tequila and he gets handsy as fuck when he drinks it. And they’ve already been drinking it most of the day. He practically sits in Dean’s lap while they ride to the chapel in one of the town cars they hired to get them around tonight. 

They found an actual Little White Chapel with a passing Elvis impersonator and they’re surrounded by family when they say _I Do_ to each other, and God, it’s like love is bursting from inside him when Dean gets to kiss his husband for the first time. 

Tattoos aside, it means everything to slip the now resized ring from his mom— made bigger with the same gold that made Dean’s ring— onto Cas’s finger. They might not be able to wear the rings often, but they’re still something else to represent their endless, profound bond. 

Before the ceremony, Ellen asked Dean if he was nervous at all, like most men were on their wedding days, but when he shook his head no and hugged her, he’d never been more confident about anything. The decision to marry Cas was never a hard one, and it doesn't even matter that they have to keep it a secret. 

All that matters is Cas, and his safety and his happiness and Dean will spend the rest of his life making sure he gets everything.

It's party time, once all the photos are taken and documents are signed. Rather than break up a fight, Bobby signs as Cas's witness and Ellen as Dean's and it's the right thing to do, for all of them. 

The town cars take them wherever they want to go and thanks to Google and Gabe's knowledge of Sin City, the bar count is high. They're an obnoxious group when they're drunk, and Dean isn't even a little surprised when the elders duck out after one stop. After that, Dean and Cas allow themselves to be dragged around Vegas, even braving a _club_ or three, which both of them tolerate, if only for the crowded dance floor where they can grind as much as they want in the pulsing darkness. 

It's goddamn exhilarating, being the guy Cas wants, and Dean's sure he's gonna pull up to Kauffman Stadium covered in hickeys if Cas's busy mouth has anything to do with it but Dean’s so drunk he doesn't care, which has been the theme of the night.

Their numbers are dwindling, the later it gets, and soon, it's just the newlyweds, a very drunk Gabriel, and an equally intoxicated Sam and Jess. Donna and Jo went back to the hotel at some point, promising to catch up for breakfast before Dean and Cas have to hit the road but leaving is the last thing on Dean's mind, when they find themselves in some random bar inside a random casino, attracted by the rock music still playing inside.

The bar is nothing special, just somewhere still serving, and they're all drunk enough that coming across yet another dance floor is an open invitation at this point. Gabriel hits it first, followed by Jess but Dean detours to the bar for a round of beers (and water), ordering and then joining Sam in the booth he found. 

His little brother’s eyes are shining when Dean slides into the seat across from him. “Can't believe you guys did it, man, I just can't believe it. You’re married, Dean!” 

“Yes, thank you Sammy, you keep reminding me.” Like all night. It was cute at first how doe-eyed Sam was about this, but… it's been a long night. 

“I'm just so happy for you, Dean,” he gushes before downing half a pint glass.

Okay, how can Dean be annoyed even if it is the hundredth time Sam's said that too? Dean thanks him anyway.

Wiping his mouth, Sam grins. “Yeah, I think I'm gonna marry Jess too, don't you think that's smart?” Propping his chin on one hand, Sam turns those dopey heart eyes towards the dancefloor where Jess is laughing and dancing with Cas and Gabe. “She's so hot.”

Dean almost snorts the beer he's sipping. Must be a Winchester thing to get all sappy when intoxicated. Still, Dean’s impressed at how sure Sam sounds, drunk or not. “Damn little bro, I think you're growing up on me.” 

“M’not,” Sam mumbles drunkenly, suddenly shy and interested in the rest of his beer.

Dean shakes his head. “Yeah ya are, Sammy.” He’s proud of the kid, if he thinks this is the next step for them. 

“It's Sam,” is all he gets back before Sam’s escaping to join the girl he loves. 

Dean’s all smiles when the boy _he_ loves comes to drag him out to dance, too. As good as it felt to be off his feet, Dean would rather be in Cas’s arms over just about anything else. Happy to let Cas guide him, Dean notices how gorgeous his husband looks under the little white twinkle lights that decorate the place and it's almost hard to believe that this isn’t some messed up dream he’s about to wake up from. 

But how can it be, when Cas wraps him in strong arms and doesn’t hesitate for a second before capturing Dean’s mouth in a hot kiss, a claim, a declaration that they belong to each other and that aside from that, nothing else matters. 

Lucky for them, it’s so late that they have the place to themselves, and no one but their family is watching as they get lost in each other, and stay that way for a few songs. It’s all jukebox rock; Lynyrd Skynyrd, Kansas, some Zepp thrown in, all songs they sway to and ignore, too caught up in the other to care about what’s playing. 

Eventually they have to come up for air, and that’s when Dean notices the song. He rolls his eyes as Journey’s “Faithfully” fills the bar. Cas grins, his eyes sparkling because Cas loves this kind of shit, the kind of coincidence that they can only blame on the universe. 

This damn song follows them wherever they go. Jump in the car, it’s on the radio. Go to the mall, it’s playing over the loudspeakers. Cas hides it in every playlist they make and it’s become a running joke between them over the _years_ it’s been happening. 

Might as well give in to it already, if it’s playing on their wedding night. 

It makes sense though. Ever since Cas came into Dean’s life, he’s stood beside him, a solid force, the bedrock of their foundation and if it hadn’t been for Cas deciding not to ignore Dean’s dumb note, they might not have fallen for each other so many times, over and over again, and goddamn it, life without Cas is a life Dean doesn’t want. Ever. Not in a million different universes. 

Before Dean can tell his husband all this, Cas presses their foreheads together. “Dean, I know we decided against writing vows but if we had, mine would have been to thank you, for loving me.” 

“Easiest thing I’ve ever done, Cas,” Dean says, wanting him to know it’s true, that Dean’s always loved him even when he had no idea what the hell love was. Cas taught him that. Dean shakes his head. “I should be thanking _you_ for putting up with me. I heard you and Gabriel earlier, you know.” 

Cas sighs. “I figured you might have. Dean, he—” 

Dean doesn’t need to hear it. “Hey, sweetheart, stop. I don’t care what Gabe thinks, I care what _you_ think. And you know where my heart is, you know who it belongs to and goddamn, I hope you know how much that means to me. How much you mean to me.” It’s easy to be this honest with Cas, after everything they’ve been through. 

“No one ever really saw me before you did Dean,” Cas admits, breaking Dean to pieces. “I never mattered to anyone, until for some fucking reason, I mattered to you.” He chokes on the last few words and a tear falls down his cheek. 

Dean brushes it away with his thumb, just wanting to bring Cas peace. “You matter, Cas. You—you know you’re everything to me.” Cas’s eyes soften when Dean kisses him again. “My sunshine. When I look at you, I see my whole goddamn world. Doesn’t matter where we end up.” A corner of Cas’s mouth tips up as he closes his eyes, accepting the kiss Dean gives him. “I want you with me always, whether we stay together in the shadows or out in the light. I don’t care, Cas, as long as you’re there.” 

“We’d probably break the Internet if we ever came out,” Cas muses, blue eyes sparkling under the twinkly lights. “That might be fun.”

Dean groans. “You’re terrible.” He can’t resist kissing the tip of Cas’s nose. “But if we ever do it, let’s make it big.”

Cas grins. “Of course, Dean.” 

“I’m talking like, a real juicy scandal—dick pics, maybe or ooh! A sex tape.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Cas throws his head back in laughter and, yup, that’s the stuff. Dean draws him in for another kiss and thinks the world wouldn’t know what hit it, if they ever went public but for now, he’s satisfied to kiss his husband in the dark and know just how much he’s loved. 


	11. Chapter 11

_ Bottom of the seventh inning... _

Dean’s knee won’t stop bouncing. 

Playful traditions over, the atmosphere in the dugout is palpable. After Sonny’s visit to the mound, the ruse of leaving Dean’s no hitter unmentioned is crumbling. It’s no small feat, what Dean’s working his way towards, and as if by magic, protecting it becomes the team’s sole focus. 

Every batter that goes up makes a solid attempt that Cas appreciates, and while none of them get on base, they make the Yankees pitcher work as hard as Dean’s been working out there. Cas hates to admit it, but the Yankees are playing a hell of a game, and it’s clear that as much as  _ their _ team is working to protect Dean’s no hitter, the other team is doing all they can to end it. 

And that makes their jobs that much harder.

So Dean’s knee bounces to relieve the stress he’s no doubt  feeling , even as he tries to ignore it, his eyes trained on their tablet. Cas knows Dean’s not seeing anything on the screen, and the way his fingers are tapping against the edge of the device is a clear giveaway his mind is elsewhere. 

Cas aches to calm him with a hand to his bouncing knee, but  instead,  he opts for sitting as close as he can. Tilting the tablet up enough to hide the screen, Cas taps it a few times to open a file within a file within a file, a little trove of pictures he hid there—to  be used only in case of an emergency. 

Dean straightens when he notices the first picture fill  a portion of the screen. It’s from their first Christmas after Dean returned from Tennessee, after they officially became  _ boyfriends, _ and Ellen had gone all out to make up for the year before, and for the things John did. The tree in The Roadhouse was gigantic and Dean insisted they take photos in front of it, after they were the only ones left in the bar. 

Dean’s kissing his cheek in this one and it’s Cas’s favorite. He swipes to the left and the next photo comes up, and Dean lifts his head to make sure no one is looking at them when he stares harder at it. 

It’s not a special moment like the first picture, but one look and there’s no question about its meaning. 

The shot is  a simple one of Cas’s bedside table, something he snapped after they moved into their home, and not some team supplied condominium. Beside his lamp and a small cedar box where he stores all his important keepsakes, there’s a framed piece of paper. At first glance it might not seem like much, but the scrap inside changed their lives. 

It’s the note Dean sent him, the first night they met. Cas kept it , of course, and it’s moved everywhere with him until he framed it for his bedside table. 

Dean drags a fingertip over the screen. “What is all this, Cas?” His voice is almost a whisper, but Cas has been listening to him speak under his breath for so long that he hears every word over the sound of the crowd and the game. 

Everything melts away when they need it to. 

“You’re always talking about your top five days,” Cas replies, voice just as low. He leans in. “Our ‘first Christmas’. ” Cas keeps his air quotes subtle. “From the night we met…” Dean sucks in a breath when Cas swipes to the next photo. “From our road trip home from Tennessee.” 

Dean shakes his head at that word, like it’s a bad one and Cas can’t argue with the sentiment. Cas loathes that year of their life, but if it weren’t for that catastrophe, Cas isn’t sure if they would have ever overcome that last hurdle between them. 

The photo is of them in some roadside diner Dean found along the way back to Lawrence. It was the epitome of campy,  _ rooster _ themed of all things with red checkered tablecloths and in the photo, they’re sitting on opposite sides of the table with plates of pie in front of them and none of that is as remarkable as the way Dean’s looking at him while Cas grins for the shot he insisted on. 

When Cas looks at this picture, he can still  feel that same sense of belonging he first understood because of Dean.

“I was so happy here,” Dean states, looking away from the photo so he can stare at Cas instead. “ Felt like we were on top of the world. Like we  could have done anything from there and we would’ve been okay.”

“We would have,” Cas replies, knowing it’s true. “We could be teaching high school in some no name town, or running a bed-and-breakfast in Maine.” 

“I  could have bought a bar,” Dean muses, bringing up one of his more far fetched dreams. 

Cas plays along. “ Maybe I  could have pursued art instead.”

“You can’t draw.” Dean reminds him.

“So?” Cas shrugs. “ Maybe I  could have learned.”

Dean snorts, but he’s hiding a grin.

“That’s not the point Dean, the point is, we ran our own race and we made our own rules, and look at all the amazing things that have come from that.” He taps the screen, drawing Dean’s enraptured gaze down so Cas can flip through the last two photos. “Me and you, Dean.  _ We _ are what’s real here. ” Cas shuts the tablet off. “We never needed the game, Dean, that’s never what this has been about.” 

The commotion of the team moving to take the field again insures Cas’s privacy when he opens his left palm, his tattoo and commitment on display. Dean does the same without hesitating, and Cas doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick to the center of Cas’s chest, where Dean knows his wedding band rests. Dean’s is around his neck as well . 

“Tell me if you don’t want to do this, Dean, and we’ll be home before the game ends. But if you want to go out there and finish this, well, you know I’ll go with you.”

Clear and focused emerald eyes snap to meet blue, and Dean doesn’t even have to speak before they’re both standing to take the field. 

The crowd  loses its  _ mind _ , the moment Dean jogs up the dugout steps. Cas fixes on his game face as he follows, even with his heart full, knowing he’d follow Dean anywhere.

Tonight though, following him into history sounds  pretty  amazing, on top of everywhere else their love has already taken them. 


	12. Chapter 12

Baseball has been a constant in Dean’s life for as long as he can remember.

From the moment he could walk and play his first game of catch, to his first tee-ball game, it was a part of Dean’s every day; practice after school and games three times a week, long afternoons on hot fields playing his favorite game in the whole wide world. 

It was Bobby who first put a baseball in his hand, said Dean would need something to keep him focused, something to keep him out of trouble, but to Dean it was an escape—especially when his parents couldn’t get along. The only place they did was at the field, the two of them treating it like Switzerland, and because of that, it was Dean’s safe place. It’s no wonder his dreams grew Big League in size, the prospect of playing at that level far off, but bright. 

Dean isn’t too arrogant to ignore what positive influence his dad had—the man taught Dean his first pitch for god's sakes—but he’s come so far from those Little League fields that Dean doesn’t have to give John an abundance of credit, truth be told. 

It’s been over six years since Dean’s seen or spoken to John Winchester. After their showdown at Stull, Dean never looked back, and whether it was John’s pride or just pure hatred, something kept him away from then on. 

Dean doesn’t regret his decision to cut his dad out of his life. If John wanted redemption, he’d come looking for it—it’s not like Dean’s living a low-key life, but Dean knows in his fucking soul that John seeks nothing from him. Not redemption, not Dean’s forgiveness—hell, he doesn’t even want to be Dean’s family and Dean is one hundred percent okay with that. 

His _real_ father is here, in the stands, sitting with the rest of their family and cheering Dean and the rest of them on, and it’s not lost on Dean how blessed he is to have them all, to be included in such a bubble… Even if Sam is wearing that face he always wears when he’s watching Dean’s pitch count too close. Dean can’t blame him, not tonight. In fact, he’s not even mad, he’s not even _annoyed_ at his little brother because right now, everything is on the line. 

Dean was only kinda, sorta joking this morning when he predicted twenty-seven, and at various times throughout the night, Dean’s taken many opportunities to consider himself certifiable for getting them into this mess. But then he looks at his pitch count. And then he considers that sure, Sam is concerned, but the clear blue of Cas’s eyes makes Dean believe that this might be possible. They’ve always made Dean believe _anything_ is possible. 

Doesn’t mean he’s not nervous while he waits for the seventh inning to end. 

Sick of looking at numbers and pitches, Dean wants to throw their tablet across the dugout in frustration, just ready to get back out there. Everything inside him wants to pace up and down the dugout but he can’t, he’s gotta stay calm, and focused, and anything else that would give the impression that he’s one hundred percent in control—cool, calm, collected—all that bullshit. 

Dean’s so wired he thinks he could run laps around the stadium right now if he had the chance, just to burn off some energy. 

He doesn’t think he can look at another excel chart when Cas takes the tablet from him and opens up a folder Dean’s never seen before. He straightens and tilts the tablet up so wandering eyes can’t see the photo Cas opened. 

It’s them, on their first Christmas as _boyfriends_ , even if no one knew that but them. They got all done up for Ellen but Cas is still wearing that hoodie he never took off back then and Dean couldn’t resist it (still can’t), so of course he’s kissing his man in the picture. What else would he be doing? Cas has this gorgeous gummy smile he used to only show to Dean and damn, they were in love then. It’s radiating off the screen. 

Cas swipes to the next one and Dean’s not sure what he’s seeing until he is. The note he passed Cas, that night so long ago in The Sparrow, the one that started all of this. He couldn’t believe Cas still had it when he first showed him and Dean’s heart beats just as hard as it did then. 

“What is this, Cas?” Dean keeps his voice low, but for the life of him, he can’t keep the awe out of it. 

Cas, his forever person, replies in a honey-soaked soothing voice. “You’re always talking about your top five days.” 

Dean sucks in a breath as he goes on, understanding setting in as Cas explains the first few photos as he swipes to the next, seeing which one Cas chose. They were two days into their trip home, taking their time to drive down to Nashville for a tour of Elvis’s house before heading back to Lawrence, and after checking into their motel and making sure the mattress was firm _(ahem)_ they walked over to the diner across the street for pie. They had a cool waitress who called them cute and offered to take their picture and they let her, and it ended up being one of Dean’s favorite photos from the entire trip. 

Cas called it a post-coital glow and rolled his eyes when Dean credited the good pie, but seeing the picture now consumes Dean with nostalgia. They were practically _babies_ , just two kids who wanted to play baseball and be together, and sometimes it’s hard to believe that after all the daydreaming they used to do, they got everything they wanted. 

There’s no one else Dean would rather face down this huge moment with, that’s for sure. 

Cas doubles down on the message he’s sending when he flips to the next photos, talking about how they made their own rules and followed their own road and fuck, seeing a picture from the night of their engagement followed by one from their wedding spells it out, right here plain as day. 

“We never needed the game, Dean. That’s never what this has been about.” Cas opens his palm enough for Dean to see his tattoo and god, Dean wants to take his hand so bad it hurts but instead, he opens his own hand to show Cas that he understands, that no matter what happens tonight, they will still remain the same. 

Cas doesn’t have to, but he offers Dean an out anyway and hearing Cas tell him he’d follow him anywhere, and knowing he would go to hell and back for Cas if he had to, gives Dean the strength he needs to stand up and take the first steps back out into the shining lights. 

He does it knowing that Cas has his back everywhere it matters. 

Including sixty feet away to catch the pitches that could launch them both into history. 

No pressure, though. 

Dean underestimates the crowd's response to him coming back out of the dugout. He knows what’s on the line, of course he does, but as the roaring grows with each step he takes towards the mound, Dean’s blown away by the show of support, so loud the ground shakes beneath his feet. 

Cas follows him, and his crystal blue eyes are glowing. “This is all for you, Dean.” He tosses Dean a baseball, which Dean catches with ease. The weight of the ball in his hand is a familiar comfort in the charged moment. “You got this.” The gummy grin Cas gives him before he turns back to home plate is fuckin’ cute and it makes Dean smile back and shake his shoulders out, love for his goofy husband still making Dean warm all over after all this time. 

The only place he can get away with pacing is around his mound and Dean takes the liberty to walk around it a time or two, having made it part of his routine a long time ago. It calms him, the extra steps, the pause as he takes in the crowd, the batter waiting on him and, most importantly, Cas’s eyes. 

Dean always knows when Cas is watching him—it’s like a tickle, a tingle, and Dean’s eyes have no trouble finding Cas’s like he’s always done, the steady blue gaze the beacon Dean needs.

It always gets him focused and back on the mound. 

Cas is Dean’s guiding light today and always and in every single verse. 

By this point in the game, Dean’s faced every batter twice and they’re going into the eighth with the top of the Yankees lineup looming. Even with his nerves, he still went over the numbers and thanks to Cas, Dean’s too busy thinking about their pictures to worry about anything else.

He’s stuck on the photo of them from the night they got engaged. After the draft and the field, they’d gone home and spent a _while_ celebrating—first in bed and then by polishing off half a bottle of whiskey and a bag of peanut M&M’s, which resulted in them drunk on more than just each other and snapping pictures, both of them still naked and in bed. 

In the one Cas picked, they’re bare chested and radiant—glowing after the life changing day, and Dean can’t get over their youthful joy—kids who had it all that day and fuckin’ knew it. When he asked Cas to marry him, Dean wasn’t sure when it would happen but it didn’t matter then, because like Cas said, they ran their race their own way, and look where it got them. 

He grabs the bill of his hat to straighten it, fidgeting, his nerves still not as settled as he'd like. Cas is ready, down in a deep squat with his free hand dangling between his legs (which yes, is the greatest distraction of Dean’s life and no, he doesn’t want to talk about it) and when he sees Dean is ready too, he signals for Dean’s first pitch—a fist with only his pinky finger pointing down—their sign for a fast ball. 

Dean agrees with a nod, and Cas changes his signal, making a fist before sticking his thumb out. 

That’s Cas’s sign for _I love you._

Fuck, Dean loves him so much. He thinks about that when he throws the pitch Cas called. It sails right over the plate, the batter swinging hard and missing, and the snap into Cas's glove is satisfying.

Strike one.

Dean walks off the mound to pace and tries to keep his mind clear. He doesn't think about his arm, or the heat in his shoulder that will need ice later, and some of that smelly cream Cas has for his knees. At least Cas can rub it in for him. 

At twenty-six, Dean feels old in baseball years.

The thought makes him falter and throw less heat and the batter tries to take advantage, except instead of making any good contact off Dean's slower throws, every pitch hits foul off the bat. Dean keeps Cas from coming out between pitches and gets the first out, but after that, there's no stopping his husband. 

Cas is wearing all his gear and it’s a comfort, the familiar shape of him with his thick, protective shin pads and caged face mask, glove swinging on one hand and in the other, the ball he's bringing Dean. Cas pushes the mask up to sit on top of his head so he can squint at Dean, his glove coming up to cover his mouth. 

“What happened?”

Dean covers his own mouth. “Shoulder's heatin' up.” No use lying, Cas will see right through him. “Just got to thinkin’ about you rubbin’ me later.”

The concern in Cas's bright blue eyes gives way to hunger before he's rolling them away. “At this rate, I'm wondering if we'll ever make it home.”

Smartass. “Very cute. Do you want to sneak into the bathroom between innings?”

“Will it calm you down?”

“Maybe,” Dean shoots back, glancing behind Cas and shutting up. The ump is almost there to collect him, not that the crowd noise would give away any of their flirty back and forth. 

Dean's smiling behind his glove though, and Cas knows it as he puts his mask back down and turns back to home plate.

After that, Dean strikes out the second batter with four pitches, perfect arrows that are only meant for Cas's glove, thrown so precisely the batter has no idea what happened when Dean’s finished.

Two outs.

When the last batter comes up, Dean throws another nasty curve for the first strike but the next two pitches get fouled off, and the third almost goes into the dirt—and that’s when Cas calls for another time out, already halfway to Dean before Dean can stop him. 

Fuck. He’s nervous. This is _huge,_ this is pinnacle career type shit, shit pitchers strive for their entire lives. This stopped being a game about an inning or two ago, and if he can’t get his shit together, he’s gonna let everyone down. If he fucks this up, he’ll be a laughingstock, that guy that _almost_ threw a no hitter but couldn’t get it done in the eighth and Dean would rather not go down like that.

Against his better judgement (Cas will hate it too), Dean’s eyes flick over to the family box, where he knows Sam is sweating him, correct in his assumption when he sees his little brother on his feet. 

Guilty, Dean faces Cas head on because otherwise Cas might lose it out here, and he already finds fire behind blue eyes as Cas pushes his mask up again.

“You’re at ninety pitches, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes widen. He keeps a loose tally of how many he’s thrown in his head, but he wasn’t expecting this.

“I know, it’s low to me too, considering how late in the game we are.” Pride shines in his eyes. “Sam’s fine, he’s smiling, look again.” 

Fucking shocked, Dean does what he’s told and whoa, Sammy is grinning at him and throwing him a thumbs up. Okay, then. Everyone else in the box looks happy too, and that’s all Dean can ask for. His family believes in him, and that, along with his low pitch count, helps some of his tension slip away.

“Dean.” One word draws him back. “You can do this.” Cas’s gaze gets drawn over Dean's shoulder. The team is coming in to check on him too. This is usually a sign of the last legs for a pitcher. Game over, lights out. Next Sonny will join them, but Dean’s determined to stop that from happening. 

He shakes his head at Cas. “Keep Sonny off our field.” It's all he needs to say before the mound is suddenly crowded with his teammates.

“Fellas.” Dean wants to hear what they think, considering how far they've helped him get.

Benny speaks for them. “Dean, brotha, you okay? Got us worried about that ball in the dirt.”

“It didn't hit,” Cas interrupts, defending the pitch. All of them speak over the stadium sounds, mouths still covered by gloves so no one who might want to read their lips can succeed.

“Because you caught it, Cas,” Benny argues back. 

It’s Dean’s turn to interrupt and put a stop to this shit. “Guys, I'm good.” Dean turns to Benny. “Nerves are there, but Cas told me my pitches are still low so we're good. I'm good.” They all know he's convincing himself too, but these guys trust him. And he trusts them. “You guys are kicking ass for me tonight, I swear I’m not wastin’ that.” 

Benny nods, but he still looks to Cas for confirmation that Dean isn’t full of crap. He must like what he sees, because he motions to the rest of the team to get back in their positions. Smart guys, because Cas knows Dean better than he knows himself.

Dean takes a deep breath and turns back towards his husband, who is practically glowing. 

“You know you’ve got this, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question. 

“Gentlemen.” The umpire is there, right on time, ready to move the game along. 

Cas smiles with his eyes, mouth still covered by his glove. “Throw me one of your fastballs and get us out of this inning.” His shoulders are relaxed and the crinkles around his eyes tell Dean Cas is enjoying this, and that he’s confident, and Dean’s never had a reason to doubt Cas in all the time he’s known him so why the hell would he start now? 

Before Cas turns away, he gives Dean one of his cute, awkward winks and Dean can’t look away as Cas goes back to the mound. His hair curls behind his ears and sticks out from the sides of his helmet, and it reminds Dean they have haircut appointments tomorrow, and it's such a mundane, married thing to do that it brings him a sense of calm he doesn’t expect. 

Tomorrow is gonna come, no matter what happens out here tonight. The sun is still gonna rise and Cas is still gonna outshine it and if Dean’s lucky, maybe after haircuts they can get some BBQ and go home and have some good sex because that? That matters. 

Living their lives is what matters. 

That incredible, perfect guy across the field that loves Dean back, no matter what—that’s what matters. 

With clarity he didn’t have before, Dean throws a ninety-nine mile per hour fast ball that the batter can only stare at as it crosses the plate, and it’s a clean strike down the middle for the third out of the inning. Dean leads his team off the field focused, his perfect game intact. 

The cheers of thirty-eight thousand fans surround him, and Cas’s hand on his shoulder as he follows Dean into the dugout sends him soaring. He floats to his seat, his teammates dropping pretense and encouraging him as he passes by.

Dean doesn’t need to pace anymore. He doesn’t need to bounce his leg to burn off any energy, hell, he doesn’t even need to tease Cas with his playful offer of a bathroom visit—because Dean’s ready. 

The only thing he needs to do is get these last three outs. 

He’s so focused, he barely registers the hustle of the team as they try to score another run for him, and despite one of their batters getting on first base, they provide no additional run support for Dean as he heads into the ninth inning. 

At this point in the game, winning means nothing anymore. In the grand scheme of the season, it’s hardly begun, so winning or losing this game wouldn’t matter in the standings. As Dean’s gotten closer and closer to this moment, the focus of the team shifted, and now all that matters is preserving perfection. 

When Dean takes the field in the ninth inning, he does so with the knowledge that he is three outs away from throwing the twenty-fourth perfect game in _all_ of Major League Baseball’s one-hundred-and-fifty year history. He’d be the first perfect game in Royals franchise history too, and only the fifth pitcher to throw a no hitter for them.

Definitely no pressure. 

Dean’s relieved when Cas walks him to the mound. The crowd is relentless, the music pounding in Dean’s ears as the team takes the field, everyone determined to finish this, and watch Dean chase history. His heart wants out, the way it’s throwing itself around in Dean’s chest, and he keeps his eyes focused on the red clay mound as he goes up and turns to face Cas. 

Looking at him always reminds Dean of staring into the sun, and he’s easily the most gorgeous man Dean’s ever laid eyes on. Cas is smiling, which turns Dean upside down, so it’s easy to settle into staring into his shining blue eyes as the rest of the world sort of… drifts away. 

Cas puts the ball in his hand. “You ready?” 

Dean nods. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He tucks his glove under his arm so he can twist the ball between his hands absentmindedly. There’s no going back now, but he always likes to double check these kinds of things with Cas. He puts his glove back on. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” 

“No.” Twinkling blue eyes make Dean huff out a laugh. “But isn’t that half the fun of it?” Slapping the back of their gloves together, he turns away and Dean _knows_ Cas deliberately shakes his ass on the way back to home plate. It’s an awkward side shimmy, and it's so very cute and so very _Cas_ that Dean laughs as he takes one quick lap around the mound, finding that he doesn’t need it. 

He can do this. 

The steps to the pitching rubber are familiar, one’s Dean’s taken a million times before. Zeroing in on the sign Cas gives him, Dean leans into his stance, spinning the ball a few times with his hand tucked behind his back, just to warm it up a little, help it fly. He checks the batter, checks with Cas again and straightens, raising his knee as high as he can to get the momentum he needs when he goes to throw the ball, the motion fueling the strength in his arm to throw his curveball with speed and precision. It sails right into Cas’s glove while the batter watches it pass him by, not even trying to swing as his first strike gets called. 

Dean retires the batter with two more fastballs which get swung at and that's one out.

Cas throws the ball back with a knowing look and Dean lets himself fall into a rhythm he trusts, throwing the pitches as Cas calls them knowing that Cas doesn’t get this sort of thing wrong, that if he just follows, Cas will guide him to greatness. 

He’s known it since day one. 

The second to last batter of the night falls into their trap just like they planned, only fouling off one of Dean's fast balls before swinging away at the third strike, a last ditch effort to send the ball sailing.

The fans lose their minds as they all rise to their feet, a traditional homage to the last out, and under these circumstances, to pay tribute to the honor of witnessing baseball history. No one ever buys a ticket and walks through the turnstiles expecting to see it. They come to see their favorite game, and their favorite players, and figure maybe, if they’re lucky, a win. Anything would have been acceptable on an otherwise dull Thursday night, but tonight, tonight ticket stubs will be pressed between book pages and locked in keepsake boxes because tonight, Dean and Cas are giving them something to tell their kids and grandkids about.

Dean's walking around the mound when a lineup change is announced, the Yankees choosing their last out to put in their strongest hitter, a clear Hail Mary, and they all know it. Even so, Cas is on his feet and walking towards Dean to check in. They're ready for this, they're always ready for pinch hitters, this one especially, so he's not sure why Cas is coming to visit. He looks cute approaching, anyway. Dean squints at him and holds a hand out for the ball. “You good?”

Cas raises an eyebrow as he slaps the ball into Dean's open palm. “Just trying to fuck with this guy. Such an asshole.” This batter has hit home runs off Dean before so Cas hates him on principle. “You should make him chase these.”

“Okay now, don't make me wanna show off for ya,” Dean jokes, an attempt to ignore his lingering nerves. He's only three strikes away. About to say something inappropriate, Dean’s interrupted when the music inside the stadium changes, and catches his ear. They like to play videos and games when the team needs breaks or between innings and since no one is paying attention, a commercial rolls, its music track playing the overly sentimental _I Hope You Dance,_ the song his mom referenced in her last letter to him.

Disbelief takes over both their faces. Cas is the only person Dean ever let read the letter and it's obvious to both of them that this isn't a coincidence and that maybe they’ve got an angel watching over them tonight.

Accidents don't just happen accidentally, not in Dean’s world.

Cas recovers first and shakes his hand free of his glove, flashing his tattoo at Dean for a brief second and knowing it's enough. Dean's focus returns before Cas can put his glove back on. He adjusts his hat to work out the last of his nerves and fixes a determined look at his husband. “Let's finish this, Cas.”

“Of course.” Cas grins at him. “Carry us home, Dean.”

The commercial fades away as Cas goes back to home plate and with the words of his mother echoing in his ears, Dean focuses on his final task.

One more out.

He finds his breath and with it, the distinct memory of his first time ever pitching, eight years old and terrified, with no knowledge of how to throw a baseball, and only the hope that he could get the ball all the way to home plate. He didn't have any faith back then, and losing his mom only made Dean lose more trust in what was good about the game, in what was good about _him._

Cas coming into his life changed all that. Cas saved him, and Dean wouldn't be a shred of who he is as a ball player and, more importantly, as a man if it weren't for him. Dean would do anything for him, and with that in mind, he does his very best to throw his nastiest, and it earns him a clean zero-and-two count, two strikes catching the Yankees batter looking.

Cas is pleased when he throws the ball back, and nothing on his face or in his eyes reads that this could be it, that with one more well thrown pitch this could all be over. Dean tries not to think about the fact that with one _bad_ pitch, it could still be over, and instead, tries to borrow some of the calm Cas is giving off.

He takes an extra moment to ground himself before his wind up and it's almost funny, the clarity that comes the moment the ball leaves his hand. As soon as he lets go, Dean knows it's a strike, just like he knows all Cas will need to do is open his glove and the curve ball will be there and the game will be over, and won with perfection intact.

Dean knows he's done it the split second before Cas catches the ball because Cas takes his eyes off it to look at Dean too, and _he_ _knows,_ and H O L Y CRAP.

No walks, no hits, no errors; just twenty-seven up, and twenty-seven down—exactly as Dean predicted.

The ball snapping into Cas's glove rings with a finality that the entire stadium can hear, echoed by a sharp, “You're out!” from the umpire, and then... all hell breaks loose.

Thundering cheers surround Dean as euphoria and relief overtake him, his arms going up into the air in victory and disbelief, and while every emotion Dean's ever felt goes through him, he looks toward what he knows is real. Cas, throwing off his catcher's mask and running towards him is real and it’s like time slows down to a crawl, and he can only think of one thing.

Dean just threw a perfect game, the highest achievement a pitcher can earn, and all he wants to do is kiss his husband and suddenly, nothing else matters—not the rest of the team rushing them, not the meltdown of the crowd and the way the stadium rumbles. He doesn't think about what it might mean to their careers or even the game itself because none of that matters, it's not even on his mind when Cas crashes into him, crushing Dean into the tightest hug he's ever been in, wrapping them up in their own world. 

Cas blocks everything else out, and Dean can only hear the rush in his ears when Cas tries to step out of their embrace, only for Dean to stop and pull him back, ignoring the way Cas's eyes widen and shutting his own when their lips finally meet. 

In this exact moment, Dean doesn't need anything more than this.

There isn’t a second’s hesitation before Cas is melting into him, and kissing Dean back with everything he has to give, his arms pulling them tighter until they’re pressed from head to toe and all that exists is the two of them, in this moment, experiencing perfection. 

Maybe minutes pass, maybe hours, days, maybe the rest of the season, Dean has no idea because he’s kissing Cas in front of the whole goddamn world and who the hell knows what it means to them after this. Dean doesn’t care—he’s got everything he could possibly want all wrapped up in this perfect moment. 

They’re too lost in each other to see the immediate reaction to their kiss, one that includes shouts of surprise from their teammates that turn into cat calls and hoots of laughter, only overshadowed by a similar response from the crowd which results in the fans getting even louder until Dean and Cas break apart and are immediately engulfed in a team celebration like no other. Everything goes into overdrive then, the stadium rocking as the Yankees slink back into their locker room, their night over while Dean feels like his is just beginning.

He fucking did it. He achieved the impossible against one of the best teams in baseball, and he did it because he's a damn good pitcher, who has a damn good partner catching for him. 

They're pulled further apart as everyone congratulates them with hugs and handshakes and slaps on the back, Dean so overwhelmed with attention he can't even make sense of who is saying what, the chaos and noise on a level he's never experienced. He goes from shaking someone's hand to turning into the proud and shining face of his mentor, his skipper, and damn it, after this long, Dean considers Sonny his _friend._ Hugging him causes the first big lump to grow in Dean's throat. 

Cas is next to him again all of a sudden to accept Sonny’s next hug, and then, above all the chaos, Dean spies his six-foot-four little brother somehow flying over the mass of people to reach Dean as quickly as possible. It makes the tears he’s been fighting spill over at the same time Dean cracks up, his emotions a total wreck. 

“It was perfect, Dean, it was fuckin’ perfect.” Sam’s like a broken record when he yanks Dean into a fierce hug. “On fewer pitches than Koufax, man, you were only at a hundred-eleven. It was perfect, it was perfect.” It's all he keeps saying as Dean hugs him and laughs, all while he just can't fucking believe it himself.

There's no use trying to hide his tears when his best friend reaches him next, Donna whooping and throwing herself at him in her euphoria. She pulls back but holds him by the arms to grin cheekily. “You just came out to the whole world, Winchester. What do you want to do next?”

“Go to Disneyland?” A gorgeous, gravelly voice answers for him and then Cas is getting hugged by Donna, while Jo takes over and hugs Dean tight. 

“Proud of you bro, for everything tonight,” she says in his ear and fuck, Dean's proud of himself too. 

“Thanks, Joanna Beth,” he answers, kissing the top of her head as she hugs him tight, the little sister he never asked for but is so glad he got. 

Speaking of siblings, Dean falls apart laughing when Gabe charges their group so he can scoop Cas into an enormous hug, lifting him off his feet to spin him around in his excitement. It’s ridiculous and so very _Gabe_ of him and Dean’s not even mad when he gets a bone-crushing hug of his own to match.

If he thought he was in the clear as far as the crying goes, he was seriously mistaken when Jo slips away and Dean looks up to see his parents standing on the edge of the crowd, both of them proud and grinning at him. Dean has to be the one to push people out of his way to get to them, so he can thank them both for giving him everything he always needed. His arms go around Ellen first and before she can say a word, he's whispering in her ear.

“Thank you, Mama. M'so glad you're here.” Dean pulls back to include his dad in the hug too, much as Bobby dislikes them. Tonight though, the old man is willing and Dean has to choke back more tears when he notices that they’re both crying too. “Real glad you both made it for this.”

“We wouldn't have missed it for the world, boy,” Bobby replies and Dean doesn't doubt it one bit. Ellen’s so emotional she can’t stop grinning through her tears, which only get worse when Cas joins them and then it’s even more hugging and laughter and fucking _joy_ and Dean is so fucking proud they could do this with their family watching. 

It’s so good, for a split second, Dean considers that this might just be a really great dream and his fear of waking up is real, until, in the middle of all the chaos and elation, a familiar hand slips into his, Cas winding their fingers together, the gesture old and familiar, and exactly what Dean needs to know that there's no way he could be sleeping right now.

He’s holding hands with the man he loves because nothing can touch them and it’s like the universe agrees as fireworks light up the night sky to mark Dean and Cas’s achievement on the field and maybe, hopefully, with a positive ripple effect for equality off the field too. There’s no way to predict how the baseball world will react to them, but right now, Dean doesn’t care and it’s obvious that his husband feels the same. 

They’ve taken on big bads before, what’s one more to face together? If the world isn’t ready, the two of them can fuck off to Maine and open that bed-and-breakfast, have a couple of kids and coach Little League.

Dean’s not picky, as long as they’re together. 

The rest of the evening lives in a series of flashes in Dean’s memory: The team celebration in the locker room, the required press conference and subsequent interviews (goddamn, so many fucking interviews), the drive home and the long way Dean took for the well earned road head Cas gave him before they got back to their house, filled with family waiting to celebrate with them late into the night. 

Even the spectacular, heaven moving, lightbulb bursting sex they had at the end—Dean in fact getting to collect on his win—lives on the edge of his memories of that night because nothing could compare to the few moments before they left the stadium for the evening.

Earlier, they'd been called to the field so a photographer could take pictures of them with the team, with Sonny and some of their other bullpen coaches. History had to be recorded, and Dean lost count of the amount of pictures they took or the number of in-game baseballs he signed for the team’s charity, for future auctions. 

He gets to take the final ball he threw home as a keepsake. The second to last will be sent to Cooperstown, the Baseball Hall of Fame—marked for future display alongside a photo of Dean standing on the mound, holding the ball with his perfect line score on the scoreboard behind him.

The photo is one of Dean’s favorite’s taken from the entire night, only second to the same picture, except in this one, he and Cas have their arms around each other’s shoulders and matching, proud grins. 

Definitely a day for the top five. 

By the end of the night, they’re two of the last players in the locker room, and Dean’s all but ready and waiting to get out of there when Cas takes his hand, and leads him back out toward the field. 

Past midnight, the mammoth stadium now sits empty and silent, the energy and excitement of the game still in the air, even in the stillness. Cas encourages him to drop his bag before they trot up the steps of the dugout to take the field, hand in hand for the first time. It’s surreal, and Dean huffs out a laugh when he notices that aside from one of the bright, stadium lights on, only the digital scoreboard lights up the night, silent, but flashing video clips of Dean’s last pitch, followed by the celebration, the major focus being their enthusiastic kiss. 

It’s like watching one of those RomComs Dean always denies he likes, the way his face changes the moment he decides he’s gonna kiss Cas and damn, they look fuckin’ _good_ wrapped around each other _,_ and there’s just no other way about it. 

Maybe that’s part of the reason they received nothing but support after. Reality set in moments before they went back into the locker room, but getting hit in the face with champagne and beer versus some secret homophobe’s fist when they entered was a damn relief. The most shit they heard was a few of their friends joking that they had a feeling, based on something they kept referring to as ‘eye sex’ but whatever, it’s not Dean’s fault Cas has the prettiest eyes on the team. 

Cas didn’t think it was cute or chivalrous when Dean used that as his defense, and that was when Dean knew they were gonna be okay. 

They watch the video together from the mound, now covered and ready for tomorrow’s game. Dean will be back here in less than a week with a clean slate, but for now, tonight, it belongs to them, and with his arms around Cas’s waist, Dean tucks his chin over his husband’s shoulder to witness their magical moment over and over. 

He can’t help how easily distracted he is, though, when he runs his nose through the curls behind Cas’s ears. Fresh from his post game shower, Cas’s familiar woody scent still makes Dean weak, the way it reminds him of their past, and of home. Dean’s never been so happy, or more in love with the man in his arms. 

Cas sighs as he leans into Dean’s attention. “I keep waiting to wake up from this dream, don’t you? Every few moments it still seems surreal, more now, watching it up there, like it happened to someone else.”

“Like watching ourselves on Netflix,” Dean replies, understanding what Cas means. It’s fucking unbelievable, the stuff of fairytales, but then again, they always kinda have been. He nips at Cas’s earlobe, knowing how much he likes it. “This is real, though. You and me, right here, kissing again on the pitcher's mound.” 

“I’d hardly call this kissing,” Cas responds, breathless in a way only Dean can bring about. The apples of his cheeks are pink when he turns around, blue eyes shining and determined as he wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders. “I can show you some real kissing, if you’d like.” Cas raises an eyebrow and his cheeky grin brings Dean back to a cold night years ago, when he first kissed Cas in the dark, not knowing the otherwise innocuous moment would be the jumping off point of his whole awesome life. He had no idea how much it would change, but he knows now that the only reason it did was because of the man in his arms. 

Dean has to tease him back, though. “Oh yeah? That so? Last I checked, I haven’t been properly kissed in…” Dean pretends to check his watch. “Wow, over an hour at least, what the hell—” 

Cas finally cuts Dean off with a hard kiss, one they both smile through before it turns soft and wanting; lips that know each other and souls that do as well, until eventually they’re both trembling, foreheads pressed together while they catch their breath. Dean never wants the moment to end. 

“I love you, you know. You got us here, Cas.” Dean’s gotta give credit where it’s due. He notices that the chain Cas’s wedding ring hangs on has found its way free of his shirt and the gold glints under the lights. Something else they don’t have to hide anymore. He gazes into his favorite shade of blue. “I owe you everything.”

Cas brushes his kiss-swollen lips against Dean’s. “You owe me nothing, Dean, because we got here together. We chose each other, don’t forget that.” 

“Never,” he whispers back, knowing he’d choose Cas every time. 

“And I love you, too, so much. I wouldn’t trade this life with you for any other.” As if the night couldn’t get any more perfect, Cas goes and makes Dean feel like the only person who matters and it’s all he’ll ever need. 

Dean kisses his husband one more time for good measure. “Let’s go home then. You might have forgotten, but I won our bet tonight.” 

Cas’s eyes darken as they dart around the empty field. “We could square up out here, if you’re game?” 

Dean’s eyebrows fly up in surprise even as his blood rushes south at the delicious and dangerous offer. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“No.” The corner of Cas’s mouth tips up mischievously. “But isn’t that half the fun of it?” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who took time to read my story! I hope you love them as much as I do! Please make sure to leave some love for my amazing artist because LOOK AT THOSE BABIES! They're gorgeous!! 
> 
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